THE 


LADY  AT  HOME: 


LEAVES  FEOM  THE  E.VERY-JUY  BOOK 


AMERICAN    WOMAN. 


BY  T.   S.  ARTHUR. 

if 

AUTHOR   OF   "  SWEETHEARTS   AND   WIVES,"    "  KEEPING   UP 

APPEARANCES,"    "  FANNY    DALE,  OR   A    YEAR   AFTER 

MARRIAGE,"    "  INSUBORDINATION,"   ETC.   ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
HENRY  F.  ANNERS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,'  in  the  year  1847,  by 
* 


in  the  Clerk's  office'  o'f  'the  District  •Court  of  the  United 
States,  in  and  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


Printed  by  T.  K.  &  P.  G.  Collins. 


PS 


A  iW 

TO    THE    READER. 

IN  writing  this  book,  the  author,  in  order 
to  make  it  both  useful  and  interesting  to  the 
extent  designed,  has  assumed  the  character  of 
an  American  woman,  and  caused  her  to  relate 
her  own  experience,  involving  the  troubles, 
wrong  doings,  errors  and  perplexities  incident 
to  domestic  life.  Its  aim  is  to  lift  every  true 
woman  up,  by  teaching  her  rightly  to  look 
down  upon  those  who  have  been  providentially 
placed  below  her,  and  thus  lifting  her  up,  to 
elevate  them  also. 


M88961 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
CHAPTER  I.— Jane,  my  Irish  Cook,         ...          7 

CHAPTER  II. — Mary,  the  Sewing  Girl,  ...  23 
CHAPTER  III. — Mary  McLean's  Story,  ...  36 
CHAPTER  IV. — Continuation  of  Mary  McLean's  Story,  48 
CHAPTER  V.— My  Old  Washerwoman,  ...  69 
The  Washerwoman's  Bill,  .  .  •  78 
CHAPTER  VI. — Death  of  Mary  McLean,  .  .  102 
CHAPTER  VII. — The  Old  Coal  Man — Moses  the  Carpet 

Shaker,     .      •':.     -\  /  V       .        .         .        .       117 

CHAPTER  VIII.— The  Fish  Woman,        .        .        .       131 

CHAPTER  IX. — A  New  Domestic,   .  .        .      144 

Hiring  a  Servant,     .        •        .  147 


1* 


THE  LADY  AT  HOME. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JANE,   MY   IRISH   COOK. 

I  WAS  sitting,  one  day,  pleasantly  occupied  with 
a  new  volume,  when  the  door  opened  quietly,  and 
my  cook,  an  Irish  girl,  (a  very  excellent  one,  by 
the  way,)  came  in,  and  advanced  towards  me. 
"  Well,  Jane,  is  any  thing  wanted  ?"  I  asked,  in 
the  mild  tone  in  which  I  always  endeavor  to  speak 
to  my  domestics. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  out  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
if  you  have  no  objection,  Mrs.  Elm  wood,"  Jane 
replied,  in  a  respectful  voice.  Now  Jane  had 
been  out  only  two  days  before,  on  her  regular 
afternoon  for  going,  and  I  felt  that  it  was  hardly 
right  for  her  to  want  two  afternoons  in  the  week. 
So  1  said,  a  little  coldly, 

"I  would  rather  not  have  you  go,  Jane." 

Her  countenance  fell  instantly,  and  she  turned 
away  and  left  the  room  with  a  disappointed  air. 
I  was  touched  at  this,  and  began  to  question  my- 

7 


8     '  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 


•self  ; a?  to  the  jus  ace  of  v/hat  I  had  done.  But  I 
soon  argued  down  my  feelings  by  such  reasonings 
as  these.  "  Jane  ought  to  know  better  than  to  ask 
for  two  afternoons  in  the  week.  The  agreement 
was  positive  in  regard  to  one,  and  I  am  surprised 
that  she  should  have  asked  for  two.  The  best 
way  is  to  keep  domestics  strictly  to  then*  contracts. 
If  you  begin  with  granting  them  indulgences,  they 
will  soon  claim  them  as  a  right.  Then,  if  I  were 
to  let  Jane  go  out  to-day,  Margaret  would  think  it 
very  hard  if  I  did  not  let  her  go  out  to-morrow. 
No— no.  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  her,  but  it  is 
best  to  be  exact  in  these  things." 

After  I  had  settled  the  matter  thus,  or,  rather, 
supposed  that  I  had  settled  it,  I  resumed  my  book ; 
but  did  not  enjoy  it  as  before.  I  could  not  drive 
from  my  imagination  the  disappointed  look  and 
air  of  Jane,  as  she  turned  from  my  room  and  went 
back  to  her  place  in  the  kitchen.  Every  now 
and  then  reproving  thoughts  would  force  them 
selves  upon  me  so  distinctly,  that  the  words  I  was 
reading  left  no  impression  of  ideas  upon  my  mind ; 
and  I  would  pause,  with  a  half  breathed  sigh,  and 
review  again  the  justice  of  my  reasons  for  not 
granting  the  small  request  of  my  cook.  The 
oftener  I  thus  looked  at  them,  the  less  was  I  satis- 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  9 

fied  with  their  force.  Still,  I  could  not  make  up 
my  mind  to  withdraw  my  interdiction.  For  this 
would  have  been  confessing  to  my  domestic,  that 
I  had  been  wrong,  and  such  a  confession  pride 
was  not  ready  to  make.  Thus,  unhappily,  did 
the  hours  wear  away  until  near  dark,  when  Mar 
garet,  my  chambermaid,  came  in  to  fill  the  pitcher 
on  my  wash  stand  with  water. 

"  Do  you  know,  ma'am,  what  is  the  matter 
with  Jane  ?M  she  said,  pausing  at  the  door,  as  she 
was  about  leaving  my  room. 

"  Why  ?"  I  asked,  while  my  heart  smote  me. 

"  She's  been  sitting  down  in  the  kitchen  and 
crying,  ail  the  afternoon  about  something." 

•*  Sitting  and  crying,"  I  said,  a  momentary 
feeling  of  indignation  arising  quickly  in  my  mind 
at  the  thought,  that,  because  I  would  not  let  her  go 
out,  she  had  remained  in  idleness  ever  since. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  But  her  work  is  all  done.  She 
got  up  very  early,  and  was  at  it  ah1  the  morning 
as  hard  as  she  could  be.  After  dinner,  all  she  had 
to  do  was  to  wash  up  her  dishes,  and  this  she  did 
right  away,  and  then  cleaned  her  kitchen  up  very 
nice.  Ever  since  that  she  has  been  crying  about 
something  or  other — what,  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know." 


10  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

I  did  not  reply  to  this,  but  sat  thoughtful  and 
silent.  Margaret  paused  a  moment  to  hear  if  I 
had  any  thing  to  say,  and  then  left  the  room,  and 
me  to  my  no  very  pleasant  reflections.  A  con 
sciousness  of  having  wronged  Jane  was  not  the 
least  agreeable  of  these, — nor  did  the  too  constant 
and  vivid  picture  upon  my  excited  imagination  of 
the  disappointed  girl  sitting  and  crying  all  alone 
in  the  kitchen  for  some  two  or  three  hours,  add 
much  to  my  quiet  satisfaction  of  mind.  But  the 
difficulty  of  my  position  was,  to  know  how  I  ought 
to  act  towards  her  under  the  circumstances.  It  was 
now  too  late  to  withdraw  my  prohibition,  for  the 
afternoon  had  passed  away,  and  could  never  be 
recalled.  "  I  will  send  for  Jane,  and  tell  her  I  am 
sorry  I  did  not  grant  her  request,"  I  said  to  my 
self.  But  there  Were  too  many  objections  to  this 
course.  It  involved,  in  the  first  place,  a  confes* 
sion  of  wrong,  and  that  I  was  not  prepared  to  make. 
"  Besides,"  I  reasoned,  "  what  will  it  matter  to 
her  whether  I  am  sorry  or  not,  seeing  that  I  have 
deprived  her  of  an  anticipated  pleasure  ?  Merely 
to  tell  her  this,  will  be  a  kind  of  mockery  to  her 
feelings."  So  I  decided,  at  least  for  the  time,  not 
to  say  any  thing  to  Jane  in  the  way  of  apology, 
but  to  be  more  careful  how  I  acted  in  future. 


THE   LADY   AT   HOME.  11 

Tea  was  ready  punctually  at  the  usual  hour,  and 
the  table  as  neatly  set  as  ever.  Jane  looked  very 
serious.  She  seemed  hurt,  but  showed  no  appear 
ance  of  anger,  or  ill  feeling  towards  me.  If  she 
had  exhibited  only  a  little  perverseness  of  temper, 
I  would  have  had  something  to  fall  back  upon. 
But  the  quiet,  sober,  resigned  air,  in,  which  was 
too  evident  the  appearance  of  disappointment, 
troubled  still  more  deeply  the  waters  of  my  spirit. 

"I'm  afraid  I  have  not  acted  altogether  right 
towards  Jane,'*'  I  said  to  my  husband,  from  whom 
I  never  can  conceal  any  thing,  as  we  passed  from 
the  tea-room. 

"  How  so,  Mary  ?"  he  asked,  looking  me  steadily 
in  the  face. 

"  She  wanted  me  to  let  her  go  out  this  afternoon. 
But  as  she  had  been  out  day  before  yesterday, 
which  was  her  regular  day,  I  told  her  that  she 
could  not  go.  She  did  not  say  any  thing  at  this 
refusal,  but  went  back  into  the  kitchen,  where, 
Margaret  told  me,  she  sat  and  cried  until  near 
dark." 

"  Did  you  inquire  why  she  wished  to  go  out 
to-day  ?" 

"No.  And  in  that  I  was  to  blame.  I  per 
mitted  myself  to  feel  a  little  unkindly  at  her  wanting 


12  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

two  afternoons  in  the  week,  when  our  agreement 
was  only  for  one,  which  she  always  had.  And  so 
I  said  'no,'  without  hesitation  or  reflection.  I 
saw  in  a  moment,  by  the  peculiar  change  in  her 
countenance,  that  my  cold  reply  was  unexpected, 
and  that  she  was  both  wounded,  and  disappointed. 
Before  I  had  time  to  reflect,  or  question  her,  she 
turned  away,  and  left  my  room." 

"I'm  afraid  you  have  been  somewhat  to  blame," 
my  husband  replied,  honestly  and  frankly,  as  he 
always  does.  "  But  how  you  are  to  repair  the 
wrong,  I  do  not  clearly  see.  The  least  you  can 
do,  I  suppose,  is,  to  tell  Jane  that  she  can  have 
to-morrow  afternoon,  if  she  wishes  it." 

"  Yes,  I  can  do  that.  And  I  will,"  I  said, 
catching  at  the  suggestion,  which  afforded  my 
mind  some  relief.  "  To-morrow  will,  no  doubt, 
suit  her  as  well." 

"Perhaps  it  may,"  my  husband  returned,  a 
little  gravely. 

"  You  don't  think  it  will,  then  ?"  I  sail  looking 
into  his  face. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,  Mary,"  he  smilingly 
replied.  "  It  may  or  it  may  not.*  Cure  is  rarely 
as  good  as  Prevention,  you  know." 

After  a  little  more  conversation  on  the  subject, 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  13 

it  was  dropped,  but  not  from  my  thoughts.  I  felt 
anxious  for  the  arrival  of  the  next  day,  that  I 
might  tell  Jane  she  could  have  the  afternoon  to 
herself.  "  That  will  mend  the  matter,  of  course," 
I  said.  "  Jane  will  get  an  extra  afternoon ;  and  the 
tacit  confession  on  my  part  that  I  acted  thought 
lessly  in  not  granting  her  request  when  asked,  will 
heal  her  wounded  feelings." 

The  more  I  thought  this  over,  the  more  clearly 
did  I  see,  that  to  act  just  as  my  husband  had  pro 
posed,  would  put  all  right  again.  One  afternoon 
would  be  the  same  as  another  to  Jane.  To  get 
out  was  the  thing  desired  by  her.  On  the  next 
day,  as  my  mind  continued  to  dwell  on  the  matter, 
I  saw  the  remedy,  in  a  clearer  light,  to  be  all  that 
was  required.  And  this  made  me  feel  quite  com 
fortable  again.  But  cook  still  looked  sober.  This 
I  did  not  exactly  like.  And  I  found  it  hard  work 
to  keep  myself  from  becoming  a  little  irritated  on 
account  of  it.  After  dinner  I  sent  for  her,  in  order 
to  tell  her  that  she  might  go  out  if  she  chose.  She 
came  into  my  room,  and  I  said, 

"  Jane,  you  can  go  out  this  afternoon,  if  you 
like." 

"  I  don't  care  about  going  out  to-day,  ma'am," 
she  returned,  in  a  respectful  tone.     But  she  did 
2 


14  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

not  smile,  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing 
heretofore,  whenever  she  replied  to  any  thing  I 
said. 

"  Very  well,  Jane,  you  can  do  as  you  like,"  I 
said,  a  little  hastily,  and  not  in  the  most  amicable 
tone  of  voice.  The  fact  is,  this  remedy  that  I  had 
built  on  so  confidently,  proved  to  be  good  for 
nothing,  and  all  through  the  girl's  perverseness,  I 
instantly  permitted  myself  to  think.  After  having 
repented  so  heartily  of  what  I  had  done — after 
having  studied  for  hours  over  the  best  way  of 
repairing  the  wrong — and  then,  after  having  told 
Jane,  as  plainly  as  I  could  tell  her,  that  I  was  sorry 
for  my  thoughtless  refusal  to  grant  her  request 
made  on  the  day  before,  to  have  all  go  for  nothing, 
and  myself  thrown  back  to  my  original  positition, 
was  more  than  I  could  bear. 

Jane  turned  away  as  I  replied,  and  again  passed 
slowly  from  my  presence,  evidently  wounded  at 
my  manner.  And  so  matters  had  become  worse 
instead  of  better.  In  attempting  to  heal  the 
breach,  I  had  only  made  it  wider.  But,  for  this, 
I  blamed  the  cook's  perverse  temper.  It  was  too 
evident  to  my  mind  that  she  had  become  sulky. 
I  had  done  all  that  I  could  do,  and  was  not  going 
to  trouble  my  head  any  further  about  the  matter. 


THE   LADY  AT  HOME.  15 

This  last  was  easily  resolved,  but  less  easily  done. 
I  was  not  well  enough  satisfied  with  myself  to 
have  a  quiet  mind.  Conscience  smote  me  for  the 
unkind  feelings  I  had  instantly  indulged,  and  the 
unkind  manner  in  which  I  had  spoken ;  and  con 
science  is  rather  a  troublesome  guest  sometimes. 
But  I  had  done  all  I  could  do,  I  persuaded  my 
self,  towards  repairing  the  seeming  wrong  to 
which  I  had  subjected  Jane,  and  was  not  going 
to  make  any  further  attempts  to  heal  the  wounds 
my  refusal  to  grant  her  request  had  inflicted.  By 
the  help  of  a  little  indignation  against  the  poor 
girl,  and  the  effort  to  throw  all  the  blame  upon 
her,  I  managed,  by  tea  time,  to  become  quite  in 
different.  My  husband's  return  from  his  store, 
however,  soon  dispelled  this.  Seating  himself 
along  side  of  me,  he  said — 

"  Mary,  I  have  learned  the  reason  why  Jane 
felt  so  keenly  your  refusal  to  let  her  go  out 
yesterday." 

"  Indeed !"  I  ejaculated,  the  blood  rising  to  my 
face. 

"  Yes.  You  know  Michael,  our  porter,  is  her 
cousin.  Well,  he  didn't  come  to  the  store  to-day 
until  after  dinner.  He  then  looked  unusually 
serious.  '  Is  any  thing  the  matter  with  Jane  ?'  he 


16  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

asked  me.  I  said,  '  nothing  that  I  know  of,  why  ?' 
*  Because,'  he  replied,  *  we  all  expected  her  yester 
day  afternoon,  but  she  didn't  come.'  *  Why  did 
you  expect  Jane?'  I  inquired.  'Oh,  because 
Ellen  was  going  away,  and  she  was  to  go  with 
us  to  see  her  off.  But  I  havn't  told  you — ' 
Michael's  voice  choked  a  little,  but  he  recovered 
himself,  and  went  on. 

"'My  youngest  sister,  Ellen,  who  came  out 
with  us  from  Ireland,  (you  know  Michael  is  mar 
ried,)  has  been  ailing  ever  since  we  got  to  this 
country.  And  more  than  that,  has  never  seemed 
happy  here.  The  old  place  was  very  dear  to 
her,  and  she  has  pined  to  get  back  into  the  old 
cottage  with  our  mother  ever  since.  She  was 
always  her  mother's  favorite,  and,  indeed,  the 
favorite  of  us  all.  Well,  as  month  after  month 
went  by,  Ellen  grew  worse  and  worse,  both  in 
body  and  mind.  She  never  would  go  into  com 
pany.  There  was  but  one  face  out  of  our  own 
house  that  was  dear  to  her,  and  that  was  the  face 
of  her  cousin  Jane,  who  lives  with  you.  Every 
week  Jane  would  come  and  spend  an  afternoon 
and  evening  with  her — the  afternoon  and  evening 
she  had  to  herself — and  these  were  Ellen's 
happiest  times.  She  loved  Jane  as  a  sister,  and 


THE    LADY   AT  HOME.  17 

so  do  we  all.  At  last  Ellen  grew  worse  and 
worse,  and  pined  so  to  get  home  again,  that  I  told 
her  if  she  wished  to  go  back  to  the  old  country, 
she  should  go.  It  did  not  take  her  long  to  make 
up  her  mind,  poor  thing !  To  see  her  eye  brighten, 
and  the  colour  come  again  to  her  thin  pale  cheek, 
as  she  would  talk  of  home,  and  our  mother,  and 
the  joy  of  getting  to  them  once  more,  used  to  melt 
me  right  down.  Jane  and  she  never  talked  about 
it,  that  both  did  not  have  a  good  hearty  cry.  As 
for  me,  I  did  not  want  to  part  with  her.  I  loved 
her  too  well,  and  I  felt  too  sure  that,  if  she  did  go 
home,  I  should  never  see  her  again.  And  so  I 
delayed  taking  her  passage  day  after  day,  and 
week  after  week,  until  the  poor  girl  drove  me  to 
it  by  saying  one  day,  '  Michael,  I  shan't  live  long, 
and  I  want  my  body  laid  in  our  own  church-yard, 
close  beside  where  little  Margery  lies.  Do  send 
me  home,  Michael !'  I  couldn't  stand  this  ;  and 
so  went  off  and  engaged  her  passage.  The  ship 
was  to  sail  in  a  week — yesterday  was  the  day. 
Jane  was  at  our  house  on  her  usual  day  of  coming 
out,  and  said  that  she  would  be  sure  and  come  to 
see  her  off.  We  all  looked  for  her  certain ;  but 
she  didn't  come.  We  waited,  and  waited,  almost 
an  hour  after  the  time  we  ought  to  have  left  home 
2* 


18  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

— poor  Ellen  was  crying  all  the  while.  But  no 
Jane  came.  I  thought  Ellen's  heart  would  break. 
She  loved  Jane  so  dearly,  and  Jane  loved  her.  and 
yet  no  Jane  came ;  and  she  was  about  going  away, 
never  perhaps  to  meet  any  of  us  again  in  this 
world.  At  last  we  went  down  to  the  ship,  still  in 
hopes  that  she  would  meet  us,  even  there.  But 
no ;  the  ship  sailed,  and  Ellen  had  given  to  her 
cousin,  whom  she  loved  as  a  sister,  no  parting 
word,  no  parting  embrace,  no  parting  look — and 
she  was  going  home  to  die  !' 

"  Michael,  as  manly  a  fellow  as  he  is,  could  no 
longer  contain  his  feelings.  The  muscles  of  his 
lips  and  face  twitched,  his  voice  failed  him,  and 
the  tears  came  into  his  eyes,  notwithstanding  his 
evident  strong  effort  at  self-control.  I  explained 
to  him,  as  well  as  I  could,  the  reasons  why  Jane 
did  not  come.  To  these  he  made  no  reply." 

Here  I  burst  into  tears,  and  covering  my  face 
with  my  hands,  actually  sobbed  aloud.  I  never 
felt  so  wretched  in  my  life  as  I  did  at  that  mo 
ment.  In  my  thoughtlessness  I  had  done  a  great 
wrong.  I  had  caused  a  deep  grief  to  settle  upon 
the  heart  of  a  lone  Irish  girl,  in  a  strange  land, 
that  no  subsequent  act  of  mine  could  remove. 
The  ship  had  sailed,  and  her  dearly  loved  relative 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  19 

had  gone  back  to  their  old  home,  never  to  return, 
and  she  had  not  been  allowed  the  sad  privilege  of 
a  parting  embrace. 

"Jane  ought  to  have  told  you  why  sne  wished 
to  go  out,"  my  husband  said,  after  a  little  while. 
"  If  she  had  only  done  that,  all  would  have  been 
right.  I  think  she  is  much  more  to  blame  than 
you  were." 

But  this  did  not  silence  my  self-upbraid  ings.  I 
could  enter  more  deeply  into  a  woman's  feelings 
than  he  could,  and  therefore  understood  much 
better  the  state  of  mind  in  which  Jane  had  been, 
and  how  natural  it  was  for  one  of  her  peculiar 
temperament,  and  habit  of  silently  bearing  both 
mental  and  physical  pain,  and  enduring  without 
an  oral  murmur  the  severest  disappointments,  to 
shrink  away  at  the  refusal  of  a  timid  request,  and 
bear  the  keenest  privation  rather  than  urge  a  once 
denied  petition.  But  what  could  I  now  do? 
Nothing.  Apologies  would  be  little  less  than  vain 
mockeries.  They  could  not  bring  back  time  and 
events.  The  ship  had  sailed. 

For  weeks  after,  Jane's  quiet,  sober,  dreamy 
expression  of  face  never  met  my  eye,  without 
troubling  the  still,  deep  waters  of  my  woman's 
heart.  I  strove  to  make  some  amends  for  what 


20  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

I  had  done,  by  increased  kindness  of  manner  to 
wards  her,  and  by  many  little  tokens  of  good  will. 
But  it  was  a  long  time  before  the  cheerful  tone  of 
her  face  came  back.  As  for  me,  it  was  a  lesson 
I  shall  never  forget.  It  taught  me  to  be  more 
considerate  of  those  whose  lot  in  life  a  good  and 
wise  Providence  has  placed  below  us  in  external 
things ;  to  regard  them  as  fellow  creatures,  with 
like  affections  with  ourselves,  and  to  study  as 
carefully  to  be  just  to  those  below,  as  to  those 
above  us.  I  say  to  myself,  often,  when  I  recall 
the  circumstance  just  related,  that  Jane  was  to 
blame  for  not  telling  me  why  she  wished  to  go  out ; 
that  her  reasons  were  so  urgent,  that  she  ought  at 
once  to  have  stated  them.  But  this  does  not 
satisfy  me.  Jane's  omissions  do  not  palliate  my 
wrong  conduct.  My  duty  was  to  inquire  the 
reason  why  a  respectful  request  was  made,  if  I 
had  any  hesitation  about  granting  it,  and  yield  or 
deny  the  privilege  according  to  the  force  of  those 
reasons.  There  was  no  excuse  for  any  mal 
administration  in  my  own  little  domain.  At  the 
head  of  a  family,  my  duty  was  to  govern  in  my 
household  with  mildness,  forbearance,  considera 
tion,  and  wisdom — not  bind  down  every  member 
over  whom  I  could  exercise  control  by  laws  as 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  21 

unvarying  as  those  which  regulate  the  movements 
of  an  automaton. 

To  an  intimate  female  friend  I  one  day,  a  few 
weeks  after  the  occurrence  of  this  incident,  men 
tioned  the  whole  circumstance.  A  little  to  my 
surprise,  she  smiled  at  my  self-condemnation,  and 
said,  that  no  one  was  to  blame  in  the  slightest 
degree  but  Jane  herself.  For  her  part,  she  didn't 
believe  that  the  girl  cared  a  great  deal  about  seeing 
her  cousin,  or  she  would  have  mentioned  it  quick 
enough.  She  had  never  found  one  of  that  class 
who  was  at  all  backward  in  demanding  any  thing 
reasonable,  and  too  few  of  them  thought  of  hesi 
tating  even  in  unreasonable  matters.  For  a  moment 
I  felt  inclined  to  catch  hold  of  this  suggestion,  but 
my  better  thoughts  quickly  prevailed.  Another 
sweeping  and  more  unfeeling  declaration  in  regard 
to  domestics,  let  me  deeper  into  my  friend's 
character  than  I  had  before  penetrated.  She  was 
one  of  those  who  have  few  sympathies  with  the 
humble  poor.  Alas !  that  there  should  be  so 
many  of  these.  And  alas  !  that  among  my  own 
gentler  sex,  there  should  exist  so  large  a  number 
who,  as  petty  tyrants,  rule  with  rods  of  iron  all 
whom  Providence  has  placed  beneath  them.  A 
domestic,  by  these  persons,  is  considered  so  far 


22  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

inferior  to  them  in  mind  and  morals,  as  well  as  in 
condition,  as  not  to  be  a  being  of  like  sympathies 
with  themselves,  or  entitled  to  their  consideration. 
Their  highest  duty  in  regard  to  them  is  to  pay 
them  regularly  their  wages.  I  know  one  of  these 
"  ladies,"  who  made  to  some  one  the  absurd  but 
somewhat  laughable  declaration,  that  there  was  as 
much  difference  between  rich  and  poor  people,  as 
between  china  and  earthenware.  And,  what  was 
more,  she  religiously  believed  her  own  assertion. 
Gross  as  were  her  ideas  of  the  distinctions  in 
human  nature,  there  are  too  many  who  think  with 
her,  but  are  more  cautious  about  expressing  their 
opinions. 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  23 

CHAPTER  II. 

MARY,  THE    SEWING    GIRL. 

THE  subject  of  domestics,  and  the  manner  in 
which  they  are  regarded  by  too  many,  recalls  to 
my  mind  the  remark  of  a  gentleman  in  whose 
house  I  had  the  privilege  of  spending  a  few  days, 
more  as  one  of  his  own  family  than  as  a  guest. 
A  delicacy  had  been  brought  upon  the  table  by 
way  of  dessert.  It  was  a  dish  of  early  straw 
berries,  the  first  of  the  season.  The  market,  as 
yet,  had  but  a  limited  supply,  and  the  price  was, 

of  course,  not  very  moderate.  Mr. dished 

out  the  strawberries,  while  his  lady  handed  some 
other  article  of  dessert  to  those  at  the  table.  After 
the  strawberries  had  been  served  to  all,  their  re 
mained  a  small  quantity  still  in  the  dish.  One 
of  the  younger  members  of  the  family,  to  whose 
palate  the  delicate  fruit  was  particularly  pleasant, 
soon  emptied  her  plate,  and  asked  to  be  helped  to 
some  more. 

"  And  leave  none  for  Betty  and  Fanny  ?"  said 
Mr. ,  looking  into  the  face  of  his  child,  with 


24  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

an  expression  of  peculiar  benevolence  upon  his  fine 
countenance,  at  the  same  time  taking  up  with  a 
spoon  more  than  half  of  the  berries  that  remained, 
and  making  a  movement  as  if  he  were  going  to 
take  her  plate. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  forgot,"  said  the  child,  quickly, 
while  a  slight  blush  warmed  her  young  cheek. 

As  I  have  just  said,  I  was,  for  the  short  time  I 
remained  with  this  family,  more  as  one  of  them, 
than  as  a  guest.  There  was,  therefore,  neither 
formality  nor  reserve  in  the  intercourse  of  the  dif 
ferent  members  on  account  of  my  presence. 

•*  I  make  it  a  rule,"   said  Mr.  ,  turning 

towards  me,  as  his  little  girl  declined  taking  any 
more  of  the  berries,  "  never  to  have  any  delicacy 
upon  my  table,  no  matter  how  costly  it  may  be, 
without  taking  good  care  to  have  a  portion  re 
served  for  every  domestic.  They  enjoy  these 
things  as  well  as  we  do,  and  should  never  be 
forgotten." 

This  was  all  he  said  upon  that  subject.  But 
it  was  not  lost  upon  me.  In  glancing  back  at 
my  own  conduct,  I  was  forced  to  acknowledge 
that  I  had  not  acted,  in  all  cases,  with  Mr.  — 's 
justice  and  benevolence  towards  the  humbler 
members  of  my  own  family.  But  I  resolved  to 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  25 

let  my  past  short  comings,  in  this  respect,  suffice. 
And  they  have  sufficed. 

The  recollection  of  another  circumstance  con 
nected  with  domestics,  and  their  treatment,  comes 
strongly  into  my  mind.  It  bears  upon  the  sub 
ject  of  their  inferiority  to  those  whom  a  happier 
external  condition  has  blessed  with  more  of  the 
comforts  and  elegancies  of  life.  In  the  family 
of  an  acquaintance,  I  had  noticed  a  young  girl  of 
a  fair  complexion,  soft  blue  eyes,  and  a  tall,  slen 
der,  delicately  formed  person.  She  had  a  quiet 
air,  and  a  mien  of  such  modesty  and  reserve,  that 
whenever  I  happened  to  see  her,  I  was  interested, 
and  not  unfrequently  alluded  to  her.  My  friend 
spoke  well  of  Mary — that  was  her  name — and 
sometimes  said  that  she  did  not  know  how  she 
could  do  without  her.  Years  passed  away,  and 
the  slender  girl  grew  up  tall  and  graceful  of  sta 
ture,  yet  with  the  same  modest  mien  that  had 
from  the  first  attracted  my  attention.  At  length  I 
missed  her  from  my  friend's  family,  and  ventured 
to  inquire  after  her.  To  my  surprise,  and  I  must 
confess,  disappointment,  I  heard  Mary  spoken  of 
slightingly.  She  had  proved  ungrateful  for  all  the 
trouble  and  kindness  of  her  benefactor,  who  had 
taken  her  when  a  child,  and  reared  her  with  the 
3 


26  THE    LADY    AT  HOME. 

care  and  consideration  of  a  mother.  Just  as  she 
had  become  valuable  to  her,  she  had  grown  dis 
satisfied,  and  left  her  house.  That  no  good  would 
"  ever  come  of  her,"  was  an  opinion  unhesitatingly 
expressed,  and  with,  it  seemed  to  me,  too  plain  an 
indication  of  pleasure  at  the  thought  that  Mary 
would  not  do  well.  This  shocked  me.  It  ex 
hibited  my  friend  in  a  more  unamiable  light  than 
I  had  ever  seen  her.  I  asked  where  Mary  had 
gone.  '  But  received  for  answer,  that  she  neither 
knew  nor  cared.  She  had  seen  fit  to  go  off  against 
her  express  wish,  and  now  she  didn't  give  herself 
any  concern  about  her.  There  is  something  not 
right  here,  I  said  to  myself  as  I  went  home.  Mrs. 

L could  not  feel  as  she  does,  if  she  had  not 

wronged  that  poor  girl  in  some  way.  It  is  the 
wronger  who  is  generally  most  incensed  in  cases 
of  difficulty  and  misunderstanding.  The  sufferer 
of  wrong  is  usually  reserved,  and  unless  urged, 
rarely  discloses  the  injustice  that  has  been  borne. 
Two  or  three  years  passed  on,  and  I  had  nearly 
forgotten  Mary,  when  a  lady  asked  me  early  one 
Fall,  if  I  did  not  want  a  good  seamstress,  one  who 
understood  dress-making,  for  a  few  weeks.  As 
that  was  what  I  did  want,  I  replied  in  the  affirma 
tive. 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME.  37 

"  Then  I  know  a  person  who  will  just  suit 
you.  I  have  had  her  for  three  weeks,  and  never 
was  so  pleased  with  any  one  in  my  life.  She  will 
leave  me  on  Monday  next." 

«  Who  is  she  ?"  I  asked. 

"  As  to  who  she  is,  I  really  cannot  say.  But 
as  to  what  she  is,  I  can  speak  more  certainly.  I 
saw  her  at  the  house  of  a  lady,  and  was  so  pleased 
with  her  appearance,  that  I  made  some  inquiries, 
and  found  that  she  was  highly  esteemed  by  this 
lady,  as  a  most  excellent  person,  and  a  good  seam 
stress.  I  did  not  hesitate  to  engage  her,  from  this 
representation.  She  proved  to  be  all  and  more 
than  I  had  expected.  Industrious,  capable,  modest, 
she  fills  her  place  with  a  quiet  dignity  of  manner, 
rarely,  if  ever,  seen  in  one  of  her  station.  You 
become  attached  to  her  involuntarily." 

"  Send  her  to  me,  then,  as  soon  as  you  are  done 
with  her,"  I  said. 

This  she  promised  to  do.  On  the  next  Mon 
day  morning,  about  ten  o'clock,  a  domestic  came 
up  and  said  that  there  was  a  person  down  stairs 
who  had  come  to  sew  for  me.  "  Tell  her  to  come 
up  stairs,"  I  replied.  In  a  few  minutes  my  door 
opened,  and  a  tall,  slender,  fragile  looking  girl 
entered. 


28  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

"  Mary  !"  I  said,  in  surprise,  instantly  recog 
nizing,  though  she  was  much  changed,  the  former 
domestic  in  my  friend's  family.  A  flush  passed 
over  her  face,  and  she  seemed  disconcerted  at  my 
tone  of  surprise,  in  which  was,  doubtless,  some 
thing  rather  equivocal  to  her  ear. 

"  I  am  really  glad  to  see  you,  Mary,"  I  quickly 
added,  rising  and  taking  her  hand  with  a  warm 
good  will.  "  I  have  heard  a  good  account  of  you, 
and  am  gratified  to  be  able  to  get  the  services  of 
one  upon  whom  I  know  I  can  depend  as  well  as 
upon  yourself.  I  did  not  know,  however,  that 
you  had  learned  a  trade,  and  was  not  aware,  when 

I  asked  Mrs. to  tell  you  to  come  and  sew 

for  me,  that  I  was  engaging  my  old  acquaintance 
Mary." 

A  faint,  gratified  smile,  passed  over  Mary's 
countenance,  at  this,  but  she  made  no  reply.  I 
noticed,  now,  that  she  was  paler  and  thinner 
than  when  I  last  saw  her — and  that  her  pure 
white  skin  was  of  a  peculiar  transparency.  Her 
eyes,  too,  were  brighter,  and  the  glow  of  her 
cheeks  warmer — that  is,  the  distinct,  too  well  de 
fined  glow  of  her  cheeks,  contrasted  strongly  with 
the  pallor  of  her  brow,  and  the  lower  portion  of 
her  face.  I  felt  like  asking  her  many  questions 


THE    LADY  AT   HOME.  29 

in  regard  to  herself ;  but  there  was,  in  her  man 
ner,  a  species  of  reserve  that  repelled  inquiries 
of  this  nature.  I  felt  that  I  had  no  right  to  ask 
questions  that  might  call  back  no  pleasant  histo 
ries,  nor  warm  her  heart  with  any  happy  recol 
lections. 

As  her  business  was  to  render  me  a  certain 
service,  she  was  soon  engaged  in  the  performance 
of  the  duties  that  appertained  to  her  position  in  my 
family.  In  discharging  these,  she  was  quick, 
thorough,  and  conscientious.  Nothing  was  slight 
ed,  nothing  omitted,  nothing  lingered  over  a  mo 
ment  longer  than  necessary.  Unless  I  addressed 
her,  she  rarely  spoke,  except  to  ask  some  question 
in  regard  to  her  work.  She  had  been  with  me 

about  ten  days,  when,  one  morning,  Mrs.  L 

dropped  in.  She  did  not  wait  in  the  parlor  for 
me  to  come  down,  but,  as  we  were  on  terms  of 
intimacy,  and  as  she  had  only  a  minute,  as  she 
said,  to  stay,  came  immediately  up  to  my  sitting 
room,  where  Mary  was  at  work.  As  she  en 
tered,  Mary  turned  instantly  pale,  and  half  arose, 
evidently  under  a  strong  internal  impulse  of  some 

kind.     Mrs.  L looked  surprised,  and  slightly 

confused  for  a  moment,  and  without  inclining  her 
3* 


30  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

head,  or  permitting  a  muscle  of  her  face  to  relax, 
merely  said,  in  a  very  cold  tone — 

"  Mary" — and  then  turned  to  me,  and  com 
menced  some  unimportant  topic  of  conversation. 
I  glanced  towards  Mary,  as  she  resumed  her  work, 
and  saw  that  her  hand  trembled  so  that  she  with 
difficulty  plied  her  needle.  Mrs.  L—  did  not 
sit  long.  When  she  went  away,  she  neither 
looked  at  nor  spoke  to  Mary.  I  attended  her  to 
the  door,  bade  her  good  morning,  and  then  re 
turned  to  my  sitting  soom.  My  seamstress  was 
not  there.  As  I  passed  her  work-basket,  some 
thing  glistened  upon  a  dark  cape  she  had  been 
sewjng  upon.  I  looked  at  it  closer,  and  saw  that 
it  was  a  tear  ! 

Not  more  than  five  minutes  elapsed  before 
Mary  returned  and  resumed  her  employment,  but 
without  any  remark  on  what  had  passed.  Her 
eyes  were  red  from  weeping,  and,  as  she  com 
menced  sewing,  I  observed  that  her  hand  still 
trembled. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  here.  What  can 
it  be?"  I  said  to  myself.  "Some  one  is  to 
blame.  Who  is  it?  Mary, or  Mrs.  L ?" 

That  the  pale,  quiet,  suffering  girl  before  me  had 


THE   LADY  AT  HOME.  31 

been  guilty  of  any  very  heinous  offence  against 
Mrs.  L  ,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  believe. 
"  It  is  the  injurer  who  is  most  unforgiving,"  I  said. 
"The  injured  more  readily  forgive  others  their 
trespasses  against  them."  These  thoughts  were 
scattered  by  seeing  the  tears  again  falling  from 
the  poor  girPs  eyes,  while  she  still  endeavoured  to 
point  her  needle  to  the  right  place.  I  could  not 
bear  to  see  her  thus  distressed,  and  make  no  efforts 
to  afford  her  relief.  But  what  could  I  say  ?  It 
would  not  be  right  for  me  to  make  her  feel,  by 
any  thing  I  might  utter,  bound  to  allude  to  Mrs. 

L or  any  thing  in  her  past  life.  If  she  wished 

to  keep  all  that  as  a  sealed  book,  I  had  no  right  to 
extort  it  from  her.  But  there  was  one  thing  which 
I  could  do,  and  that  was  to  make  her  conscious 
that  I  fell  kindly  towards  her.  So  I  went  up  to 
her,  and  laying  my  hand  upon  her,  said,  in  a 
sympathizing  voice — 

"  Mary,  child,  if  you  would  like  to  be  alone,  go 
up  to  your  chamber,  and  remain  there  as  long  as  you 
please.  You  are  disturbed  by  what  has  happened 
— do  not  do  violence  to  your  feelings  by  struggling 
to  suppress  them — let  them  come  forth,  and  then 
you  will  feel  better." 

She  started  at  the  touch  of  my  hand,  and  the 


32  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

sound  of  my  voice,  and  then  remained  as  fi^d  as 
a  statue  while  I  uttered  the  few  words  I  have  just 
written.  For  a  moment  afterwards  she  continued 
thus  motionless — then  the  flood-gates  of  feeling 
were  forced  aside,  and  her  whole  frame  became 
violently  agitated,  while  the  tears  fell  from  her 
eyes  like  rain.  I  could  not  help  sitting  down 
beside  the  weeping  girl,  and  taking  her  hands  in 
mine,  in  token  of  the  interest  I  felt  in  her,  and  my 
earnest  desire  to  minister  to  the  mental  pain  she 
was  suffering.  At  last  the  storm  of  passion  began 
to  subside.  Her  body  became  less  violently  agi 
tated — her  sobs  less  frequent — and,  finally,  the 
fountain  of  tears  was  sealed  up.  Slowly  turning 
towards  me,  as  she  regained  her  self-command, 
she  looked  me  in  the  face  and  said — 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  madam,  this  wild  excitement. 
1  have  not  always  been  so  weak  and  foolish.  The 
time  was  when  I  could  control  my  feelings.  But 
I  am  growing  weaker  in  mind  as  well  as  in 
body  of  late.  It  is  now  more  than  two  years  since 

I  saw  Mrs.  L .     You  know  she  raised  me 

from  a  little  girl.  She  was  kind  to  me  in  a  good 
many  things  ;  and,  more  than  that,  was  my  pro 
tector  when  I  had  no  one  up  to  whom  I  could 
look.  I  became,  very  naturally,  attached  to  her, 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME.  33 

and  remained  and  served  her  faithfully  until  I  was 
of  age.  Then  I  wanted  to  learn  a  trade.  But  she 
did  not  wish  to  part  with  me.  I  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  remaining  a  kitchen  servant,  as  I 
had  been,  or  even  of  holding  the  relation  of  a 
domestic  in  any  capacity.  I  frankly  explained  this 
to  her,  and  she  said  I  was  getting  notions  above 
my  station  in  life,  and,  if  I  knew  when  I  was  well 
off,  would  'remain  where  I  was.  But  my  mind 
was  made  up.  I  had  looked  for  years  to  the  time 
when  I  should  be  free  from  service,  with  the  fixed 
intention  of  then  learning  a  trade ;  and  I  could  not 
give  up  this  intention.  I,  therefore,  after  continu 
ing  to  work  for  her  a  year  after  I  had  attained  my 

eighteenth  year,  gave  Mrs.  L notice  that  I 

should  leave  her  on  a  certain  day,  for  the  purpose 
of  learning  a  trade.  From  that  moment  her  whole 
manner  towards  me  changed.  When  I  left  the 
house,  she  bade  me  good-by  in  a  cool,  repulsive 
manner.  Once  I  went  back  to  see  her,  but  she 
sent  me  down  word  that  she  was  engaged.  Twice 
afterwards  I  met  her  in  the  street,  and  paused  in 
voluntarily — but  she  passed  me  with  a  cold  nod. 
The  third  time  I  have  seen  her  in  more  than  two 
years  was  this  morning.  You  saw,  yourself,  her 
manner.  And  yet  I  am  unconscious  of  any  wrong 


34  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

towards  her.  For  seven  years  I  served  her  faith 
fully.  My  conscience  fully  acquifc  me  here.  But 
because,  when  I  arrived  at  an  age  when  I  was 
bound  to  judge  for  myself  and  choose  for  myself, 
I  did  judge  and  choose  for  myself,  I  have  been 
thrown  off,  and  treated  by  the  only  one  left  me  in 

the  world  to  love,  (for  I  did  love  Mrs.  L ,)  as 

if  I  had  committed  some  dreadful  crime." 

"  And  is  this  all  that  Mrs.  L has  against 

you  ?"  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  I  know  of  nothing  else,  madam.  Certain  it 
is,  that  in  nothing  have  I  wronged  her,  beyond  this, 
if  this  may  be  called  a  wrong." 

Mary's  relation  pained  and  surprised  me.  I  am 
always  pained  at  witnessing  or  hearing  of  any 
injustice  towards  those  who  occupy  the  humble 
stations  below  us.  That  they  should  sometimes 
be  unjust  towards  us,  we  can  hardly  wonder,  for 
too  many  of  them  have  never  been  instructed  in 
the  first  principles  of  right  conduct  in  life.  They 
are  often  mere  creatures  of  passion  and  impulse, 
and  need  not  be  cared  for,  and  borne  with,  and 
kindly  admonished  as  children.  They  are  not  to 
be  judged  by  the  strict  rules  we  would  apply  to 
those  intellectually  and  morally  trained  ;  although 
it  often  happens,  that,  among  them,  we  find  cases 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME  35 

of  moral  discipline  that  shine  with  a  peculiar  lustre. 
But  when  the  petty  selfishness  of  mistresses  leads 
them  to  oppress  and  grind  down  the  faces  of 
domestics,  I  think  it  is  truly  melancholy.  In  this 
case,  an  honourable  desire  to  rise  above  an  uncon 
genial  position  in  life,  instead  of  being  met  with 
generous  encouragement,  was  opposed,  and  for  no 
other  reason  than  because  it  would  deprive  Mrs. 

L of  a  valuable  aid  in  her  family.     Nay, 

more— because  this  honourable  desire  was  reso 
lutely  carried  out,  a  poor  and  friendless  girl  was 
thrown  off  from  that  kind  consideration  which  it 
was  evident  her  heart  yearned  for  as  a  babe  for  its 
mother's  milk.  Truly,  facts  like  these  it  is  sad  to 
contemplate ! 


36  THE   LADY   AT    HOME. 


CHAPTER  III. 


MARY  M'LEAN,  my  seamstress,  had  been  with 
me,  as  I  have  said,  about  ten  days,  when  Mrs. 

L called    in,   and    treated    her  so  coldly. 

During  that  time  my  mind  had  been  gradually 
becoming  more  and  more  interested  in  her.  Each 
day  brought  out  to  my  attentive  eye  some  new 
feature  in  the  unobtrusive  girl's  character.  There 
was  a  modest  refinement  about  her  manner  to 
wards  me,  unusual  in  a  person  situated  in  life  as 
she  was.  There  was  nothing  of  that  affected 
deference  we  so  often  observe  in  domestics,  as  if 
they  were  flattering  our  sense  of  superiority,  nor 
was  there  any  freedom  of  word  or  action.  She 
had  come  into  my  house  to  render  me  a  certain 
service.  That  service  she  was  performing  faith 
fully.  Beyond  that,  she  had  nothing  to  give,  and 
beyond  her  wages,  she  expected  nothing.  This 
seemed  to  be  the  state  of  her  mind.  If  she  asked 
or  answered  a  question,  it  was  with  a  calm,  even 
tone.  And  while  this  was  low,  modest,  and  re- 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  37 

spectful,  it  was  perfectly  free  from  the  slightest 
servility. 

"  There  is  something  about  Mary  that  interests 
me  very  much,"  my  husband  often  said,  during 
this  time.  "I  find  it  hard  to  persuade  myself 
that  she  has  been  for  seven  years,  during  that  por 
tion  of  life  when  the  ductile  character  takes  im 
pressions  that  become  hardened  into  permanent 
forms,  in  the  kitchen  as  a  common  servant. 
Earlier  than  the  period  at  which  she  came  into  the 

hands  of  Mrs.  L ,  she  must  have  lived  in  a 

far  different  condition,  and  the  remembrance  of 
that,  has  doubtless  kept  her  eye  fixed  on  a  higher 
mark  than  any  at  which  ordinary  domestics 
usually  aim.  If  her  history  were  known,  I  have 
little  doubt  but  that  it  would  show  her  to  be  the 
child  of  parents  in  a  very  different  condition  in 
life  from  the  one  she  now  occupies." 

I  readily  acquiesced  in  this.  There  must 
have  been  made,  even  much  earlier  than  the  age 
of  eleven  years,  some  very  strong  impressions 
upon  her  mind,  and  of  a  character  very  different 
from  those  to  which,  for  the  succeeding  seven 
years,  she  had  been  subjected.  So  much  for  her 
mind  and  morals.  Her  personal  appearance  sur 
prised  me  still  more.  Although  for  so  long  a  time 
4 


38  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

she  had  been  engaged  in  cooking,  washing,  and 
all  manner  of  rough  and  hard  work,  her  person 
was  slender  and  delicate,  her  skin  pure  and  white, 
her  hand  small  and  well  made,  and  her  carriage 
easy  and  graceful.  I  could  hardly  persuade  my 
self  that  she  was  really  the  same  person  with  the 
coarsely  clad,  but  tidy  little  girl  I  had  noticed  for 

so  many  years  in  Mrs.  L 's  family.  It 

seemed  impossible  that  any  one  could  have  passed 
up  through  a  kitchen,  partaking,  by  the  way,  of 
its  severest  drudgery,  and  not  have  borne  its 
marks  until  the  day  of  death.  Here,  however, 
was  an  exception ;  and  a  most  interesting  ex 
ception. 

One  day,  while  sitting  in  the  room  with  her, 
something  opened  the  way  for  me  ask  a  few 
questions  in  regard  to  her  early  life.  That  she 
was  from  Ireland,  I  knew  by  her  name,  and  a  very 
slight  modification  in  her  pronunciation  of  a  few 
words  ;  but  I  preferred  the  question  as  a  leading 
one — "  You  are  from  Ireland,  I  believe,  Mary  ?" 
to  any  other.' 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  was  her  simple  reply. 

"  At  what  age  did  you  leave  there  ?"  I  added. 

"  I  was  ten  years  old  when  I  was  brought  to 
this  country." 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  39 

"  Did  your  parents  come  with  you  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am.  They  both  died  about  a  year 
before/' 

I  paused  for  a  little  while,  in  hopes  that  she 
would  volunteer  some  further  facts  in  her  early 
history ;  but  she  remained  silent,  and  I  pursued 
my  questions,  encouraged  by  her  unhesitating 
answers. 

"  Were  they  in  good  circumstances  ?"  I  asked. 

This  produced  quite  a  change  in  her  whole 
manner,  and  seemed  to  disturb  her.  But  she  was 
self-possessed  in  a  moment,  and  replied, 

"My  father  was  a  man  of  wealth.  I  can  re 
member  that  we  lived  in  a  very  large  house,  and 
had  a  great  many  servants, — that  I  always  had 
one  to  go  with  me  and  wait  upon  me  wherever  I 
went.  I  was  sent  to  school  early,  and  had  teachers 
before  I  was  taken  away,  both  in  music  and 
French.  All  I  learned  of  these  has,  however, 
long  since  been  forgotten.  When  my  father  and 
mother  died,  I  was  taken,  with  a  younger  sister, 
to  the  house  of  an  uncle,  where  I  remained  for 
nearly  a  year.  During  that  time  my  brother,  who 
was  a  man  grown,  came  frequently  to  see  us,  but 
he  never  seemed  happy.  He  used  to  have  long 
conversations  with  our  uncle,  during  which  both 


40  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

would  become  very  warm — not  angry  with  each 
other,  but,  as  it  seemed,  excited  on  the  subject 
.they  were  talking  about.  I  became,  at  length,  in 
terested  to  know  what  their  frequent  disturbing 
conversations  meant,  and  used  to  listen  attentively 
to  what  they  said.  I  soon  began  to  perceive  that 
it  had  some  reference  to  myself  and  sister,  and  that 
something  about  property  and  the  loss  of  it,  was 
constantly  alluded  to.  My  father  was  a  Roman 
Catholic,  and  I  afterwards  learned  that  from  some 
government  suspicion  against  him,  or  from  some 
act  of  the  family  during  the  Irish  rebellion,  nearly 
all  of  his  property  had  been  seized  and  confiscated 
immediately  after  his  death.  The  long  interviews 
between  my  uncle  and  brother  were  on  mis  sub 
ject.  Efforts  had  been  made  by  means  of  emi 
nent  counsel  to  procure  such  a  representation  to 
the  proper  sources,  as  would  cause  a  restoration 
of  this  property  so  unjustly  taken.  But  it  was 
all  in  vain.  Not  a  guinea  of  it  ever  came  back 
to  us.  These  particulars  I  afterwards  learned. 

"  All  hope  of  recovering  our  lost  property  having 
at  last  faded  from  the  mind  of  my  brother,  he 
resolved  on  coming  to  America,  and  seeking  his 
fortune  in  this  land  of  promise.  With  about  two 
hundred  pounds  in  gold,  all  that  remained  to  us  of 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  41 

very  great  wealth,  we  set  sail  for  an  unknown 
country.  We  landed  at  New  York,  and  there 
my  brother  endeavored  to  get  into  business. 
Comfortable  rooms  were  taken  for  us  in  a  board 
ing-house,  where  we  remained  for  several  months. 
During  the  first  part  of  this  time  our  brother  was 
very  attentive  to  all  our  wants,  and  was  always 
glad  to  meet  us  when  he  came  home ;  but  he 
gradually  became  less  interested  in  us.  Sometimes 
he  did  not  come  in  all  day,  nor  at  night  until  we 
were  in  bed  and  asleep.  In  the  mornings  he  was 
silent,  and,  I  could  see,  very  much  troubled  about 
something.  This  went  on  for  about  four  months, 
when  he  told  us  one  day  that  he  was  going  to 
leave  New  York.  We  were  all  got  ready 
hurriedly  soon  after,  and  brought  to  this  city. 
Here  my  brother  opened  a  little  grocery  and  liquor 
store,  which  was  frequented  by  a  great  many  of 
our  countrymen  of  the  lower  sort,  who  bought 
groceries  for  their  families  and  liquors  for  them 
selves.  But  he  was  greatly  changed.  At  home 
he  had  been  one  of  the  best  of  brothers,  and  for  a 
short  time  after  our  arrival  in  New  York  had  con 
tinued  to  act  towards  us  with  uniform  kindness  ; 
now,  however,  he  had  become  silent,  gloomy,  and 
ill-natured.  He  never  spoke  to  us  except  to  order 
4* 


42  THE   LADY  AT   HOME. 

us  to  do  something,  or  to  scold  us  for  some  alleged 
neglect.  I  was  required,  young  as  I  was,  to  wait 
upon  customers,  and  to  work  about  like  a  little 
drudge.  All  this  I  would  have  done  cheerfully  if 
my  reward  had  been  his  smiles  and  kind  words 
of  approval ;  but  these  never  came.  Thus  matters 
continued  for  about  six  months,  when  the  store 
was  closed,  and  myself  and  sister  bound  out.  I 

found  an  asylum  in  the  family  of  Mrs.  L . 

My  poor  sister  was  less  fortunate.  The  woman 
who  took  her  treated  her  with  much  cruelty ;  but 
this  was  not  long  permitted.  She  died  with  the 
scarlet  fever  in  about  a  year." 

Mary's  voice  failed  her  here.  But  she  soon 
recovered  it,  and  went  on. 

"  I  did  not  see  my  little  sister  at  the  time  she 
died — nor  afterwards.  The  disease,  when  it  took 
hold  of  her,  soon  ended  fatally.  One  Sunday 
afternoon,  a  time  when  I  always  had  a  few 
hours  to  myself,  I  went,  as  usual,  to  see  Sarah. 
The  woman  with  whom  she  lived  never  seemed 
much  pleased  when  I  came  there.  This  time, 
when  I  went  in  and  asked  for  my  sister,  I  per 
ceived  a  great  change  in  her  manner.  She  looked 
serious,  and  taking  my  hand,  said,  in  a  kind  voice, 
"  Mary,  you  will  never  see  your  sister  again.  She 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME.  43 

died  three  days  ago  with  scarlet  fever !'  This  was 
a  dreadful  shock  to  me.  For  a  little  while,  it 
seemed  as  if  my  heart  had  ceased  to  beat.  I  had 
not  even  known  of  her  illness.  The  last  time  I 
had  seen  her,  only  a  week  before,  she  had  ap 
peared  as  well  as  usual,  but  she  was  not  happy. 
How  could  she  be  ?  Only  nine  years  old — away 
from  the  pleasant  home  of  childhood — separated 
from  the  sister  she  loved  so  tenderly,  and  com 
pelled  to  work  beyond  her  strength.  And  more 
than  all  this,  scolded  and  whipped  for  things  she 
couldn't  help.  I  remember  so  well  what  passed 
on  that  Sunday  afternoon.  We  had  gone  up  into 
the  garret  where  her  hard  bed  was  laid  upon  the 
floor,  and  had  sat  down  upon  it,  for  there  was  not 
a  chair  or  bench  in  the  room,  with  our  arms 
around  each  other's  necks  to  talk  about  home.  The 
first  words  brought  the  tears  from  Sarah's  eyes. 
Her  heart  was  fuller  than  usual.  I  drew  my  arm 
tightly  around  her,  and  she  laid  her  head  down 
upon  my  shoulder  and  cried  for  a  long  while.  '  Is 
there  any  thing  the  matter,  sister?'  I  asked.  As 
I  said  this,  she  lifted  her  head,  and  rolling  up  the 
sleeie  of  her  frock,  pointed  to  several  deep  red 
marks  upon  her  little  arm.  '  And  they're  all  over 
my  back  and  shoulders !'  she  said,  sobbing  bit- 


44  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

terly.  I  did  not  ask  what  they  meant.  I  under 
stood  too  well.  All  I  could  do,  was  to  press  her 
with  a  tighter  clasp  to  my  bosom,  and  mingle  my 
unavailing  tears  with  hers  '  Last  night,'  she  said, 
after  some  time  had  passed,  and  her  tears  had 
ceased  to  flow,  *  I  dreamed  that  our  mother  came 
here,  and  taking  hold  of  my  hand,  led  me  away 
back  to  our  home  in  Ireland.  I  was  so  happy  ! 
But  it  was  only  a  dream !  I've  been  thinking 
ever  since,  Mary,  that  I  would  like  to  die  and  go 
to  her.  Wouldn't  you  ?'  *  You  must  try  and 
not  think  that  way,  Sarah,'  I  replied  to  this.  «  But 
I  can't  help  it,'  she  said  quickly.  '  If  I  could  only 
die  and  go  to  my  mother !  Oh,  sister,  how 
happy  I  would  then  be  !' 

"  The  eager  wish  of  her  little  aching  heart  was 
speedily  gratified.  She  was  taken  away  by  Him 
whose  ear  is  open  to  the  cry  of  the  orphan.  I 
never  saw  her  from  that  hour.  Dear  child  !  How 
often,  lonely  as  I  felt  without  a  single  one  to  love, 
have  I  thanked  our  Father  in  Heaven  for  taking 
her  away  from  her  cruel  bondage.  There  was 
one  act  of  kindness  in  the  hard-hearted  woman 
with  whom  my  sister  lived,  that  softened  my  feel 
ings  towards  her.  She  gave  me  the  little  trunk 
in  which  Sarah  kept  her  clothes,  and  in  which 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  45 

every  thing  belonging  to  her  had  been  placed.  I 
have  all  these  still.  They  are  to  me  precious 
relics,  and,  even  now,  I  sometimes  look  at  them 
until  the  tears  run  down  my  face, 

"  I  learned  the  place  where  Sarah  was  buried. 
In  this  last  act  there  appears  to  have  been  some 
little  conscience  at  work.  They  did  not  bury  her 
in  the  Potter's  field.  Some  excuse  was  made  for 
not  sending  for  me,  on  the  ground  that  the  disease 
was  «  catching?  but  it  did  not  satisfy  me.  It  al 
most  broke  my  heart  to  think,  that  she  had  sick 
ened  and  died  thus  alone  with  strangers,  who  had 
no  regard  for  her.  The  absolute  certainty  of 
death  could  not  have  kept  me  away  from  her,  my 
innocent  minded,  tender,  abused  little  sister.  But 
I  must  not  talk  about  this.  It  disturbs  me  too 
much." 

/ 1  looked  at  Mary  more  intently  as  she  said  this, 
and  perceived  that  her  hand  was  trembling,  her 
cheeks  flushed,  and  her  whole  frame  laboring  un 
der  excitement. 

"  I  don't  know  but  that  I  have  been  trespassing 
too  far  upon  you  all  in  this,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  It  is  the  first  time  any  one  has  seemed  to  take 
an  interest  in  knowing  my  past  history,  and  this 


46  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

interest  has  betrayed  me,  I  fear,  into  saying  too 
much." 

I  assured  her  that  this  was  not  so.  That  I 
had  a  great  desire  to  learn  all  about  her,  and  had 
purposely  led  her  on  to  speak  of  herself.  But  as 
I  did  not  think  it  good  for  her,  under  her  present 
agitated  state  of  mind,  to  continue  her  narrative,  I 
told  her  that  I  would  be  glad  to  hear  more  from 
her  at  some  other  time — naming  the  afternoon  of 
the  same  day — provided  nothing  prevented.  I  then 
left  her  to  herself  for  two  or  three  hours,  saying, 
as  I  was  about  going  from  the  room— 

"  I  would  rather,  Mary,  that  you  would  not, 
while  working  for  me,  apply  yourself  quite  so 
closely  as  you  do.  It  is  not  hard  to  see,  that  in 
your  new  calling,  you  are  too  much  confined. 
If  your  health  has  not  already  suffered,  it  will 
suffer." 

A  silent  but  grateful  look  was  the  only  reply 
she  made.  I  then  left  the  room,  and  did  not  re 
turn  to  it  for  two  hours.  But  there  was  little  of 
that  time  in  which  my  thoughts  were  not  upon 
the  interesting  seamstress  to  whose  affecting  his 
tory  I  had  been  listening.  I  felt  a  particular  de 
sire  to  learn  from  her  exactly  how  Mrs.  L 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  47 

had  treated  her  during  the  seven  years  she  had 
passed  in  her  family.  Not  well,  I  was  satisfied. 
And  yet,  if  any  one  had  insinuated  that  she  had  not 
done  her  duty  by  the  orphan  child  committed  to 
her  care,  it  would  have  filled  her,  I  doubt  not,  with 
astonishment. 


48  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

CONTINUATION   OF    MARY    M'LEAN*S    STORY. 

AFTER  dinner  I  went  into  the  room  where  Mary 
was  sewing,  and  told  her  that  if  she  felt  free  to 
do  so,  I  would  be  glad  to  have  her  relate  to  me 
further,  the  incidents  of  her  life,  since  she  had 
come  to  this  country.  She  smiled  faintly  and 
sadly,  and  then  without  hesitation,  resumed  where 
she  had  left  off. 

"  The  removal  of  my  sister  made  me  feel  lost 
and  lonely.  The  love  I  bore  to  her,  and  the  deep 
anxiety  and  pain  I  constantly  felt  for  her,  had 
the  effect  to  take  me,  as  it  were,  out  of  myself — 
to  cause  me  to  think  little  of  myself.  But  after 
she  died,  my  heart  became  heavy  within  my  bo 
som.  There  was  no  one  to  whom  it  could  turn — 
there  was  no  one  for  it  to  love.  My  brother  had 
left  the  city  and  returned  to  New  York.  I  wrote 
him  a  letter,  as  well  as  I  could,  on  the  Sunday 
after  I  heard  of  Sarah's  death,  and  told  him  all 
about  how  she  had  been  treated.  But  he  did  not 
get  it — or,  if  he  did,  never  replied  to  it.  After 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  49 

that,  time  passed  without  any  change  worth  no 
ticing.  Mrs.  L was  kind  enough  in  her  man 
ner  towards  me,  and  this  attached  me  to  her.  But 
I  had  to  work  very  hard.  The  family  was  large, 
and  she  kept  but  one  other  girl — of  course  we  had 
to  do  every  thing ;  even  all  the  washing  and  iron 
ing.  I  was  willing,  however,  and  this  satisfied 

Mrs.   L .     Sunday  afternoon  was  the  only 

leisure  time  I  had.  Then  I  would  go  up  into 
the  garret,  where  I  slept,  and  sit  and  think  of  my 
father  and  mother  and  Sarah,  who  were  dead — of 
the  happy  home  I  had  once  had — and  then  of  my 
present  hard  and  lonely  condition.  At  first,  these 
thoughts  always  filled  my  eyes  with  tears.  I 
would  cry  for  sometimes  a  whole  hour.  Then  I 
would  have  a  feeling  that  this  was  wrong.  That 
my  Father  in  Heaven  knew  all  about  me,  and  that 
he  had  permitted  this  change  to  take  place  for  my 
good.  These  thoughts  usually  had  the  effect  to 
make  me  get  down  upon  my  knees,  and  pray  for 
a  spirit  of  humble  submission  to  my  lot.  After 
doing  so,  I  always  felt  something  warm  and  happy 
in  my  bosom — with  a  sweet  peace  that  I  cannot 
describe.  In  this  way,  months  and  years  passed 
away.  Every  Sunday  afternoon,  I  would  go  off 
alone  into  the  garret  and  read  some  good  book— 


50  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

most  frequently  the  Bible — think  about  my  old 
home,  and  my  old  condition,  and  then,  as  I  would 
grow  sad,  kneel  down  and  pray  for  submission. 

"  One  effect  of  this  constant  thinking  about  the 
past — of  this  musing  over  my  lost  home  and  its 
comforts,  was  to  elevate  my  feelings  above  my 

condition.  Mrs.  L often  blamed  me  because 

I  kept  myself,  as  she  said,  so  much  to  myself. 
There  were  several  girls  about  my  own  age,  in  the 
neighborhood,  who  occupied  positions  in  other 
families  similiar  to  what  I  did  in  the  family  of 

Mrs.  L .  These  often  made  efforts  to  draw 

me  out  into  associations  with  them.  They  would 
speak  kindly  to  me  when  I  met  them  in  the  street, 
and  stop  and  want  to  talk  about  such  matters  as 
interested  them.  Sometimes,  in  the  evening,  they 
would  come  into  our  kitchen,  and  sit  here  for  awhile, 
running  on  with  their  nonsense ;  but  it  didn't  suit 
my  taste  at  all.  It  was  for  not  being  on  more 

sociable  terms  with  these  girls,  that  Mrs.  L 

used  to  blame  me — particularly  if  she  by  any 
accident  happened  to  discover  me,  as  she  sometimes 
did,  sitting  and  crying  all  alone  by  myself,  while  I 
could  give  her  no  intelligible  reason  for  my  tears, 

"  But  I  had  no  relish  for  the  society  of  these 
girls.  Their  ideas  and  conversation  were  low ; 


THE   LADY    AT    HOME.  51 

and  often  vulgar,  if  not  unchaste.  Hardly  ever 
did  I  listen  to  any  one  of  them  talk  for  five  minutes, 
that  something  was  not  said  at  which  my  delicacy 
was  shocked.  No — no — I  could  not  make  com 
panions  of  these.  *  Never,  never  will  I  say  or  do 
any  thing  to  disgrace  the  memory  of  my  father !' 

was  the  unanswerable  reply  to  all  Mrs.  L 's 

rebukes.  Not  uttered  for  her  ear,  but  spoken  in 
the  silence  of  my  own  thoughts.  I  felt  that  I 
could  not  make  companions  of  the  vulgar-minded, 
the  unchaste,  the  impure,  without  becoming  myself 
like  unto  my  companions.  And  if  I  died  in  very 
loneliness  of  spirit,  I  was  resolved  to  die — but  not 
to  disgrace  by  such  low  associations  the  memory 
of  my  father.  From  these  resolutions  I  never  for 
a  single  moment  departed.  During  the  long  years  I 

passed  in  the  family  of  Mrs.  L ,  I  never  had 

but  one  friend  of  my  own  age  and  sex.  She  was 
an  innocent,  but  rather  weak-minded  girl.  It  was 
for  her  innocence  that  I  loved  her.  For  about  a 
year  we  were  companions  whenever  we  could 
meet.  But,  alas  !  Her  mind  began  to  be  cor 
rupted  by  just  the  class  of  girls  with  whom  I  had 
all  along  perseveringly  refused  to  associate.  She 
was  introduced  to  some  young  men  who  were  in 
no  way  calculated  to  elevate  her  affections.  A  new 


52  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

world  was,  as  it  were,  opened  to  her,  in  which  was 
pleasant  excitement,  flattery,  and  extended  com 
panionship.  For  a  time,  she  strove  to  lure  me 
into  this  vortex.  But  I  was  immovable,  at  the  same 
time  that  I  tried  hard  to  save  her  from  its  influence. 
My  efforts,  however,  were  in  vain.  There  was 
something  more  congenial  with  such  associations 
in  her  mind,  than  I  had  supposed.  Gradually  she 
ceased  to  come  to  our  house,  and,  as  a  conse 
quence,  our  intimacy  fell  off.  Still  I  loved  her, 
and  grieved  long  over  her  blindness  in  choosing  such 
companions  and  such  delights.  About  four  years 
ago,  she  married  one  of  the  young  men  with  whom 
she  associated,  a  shoemaker.  It  has  turned  out 
as  I  feared.  He  has  not  been  able  to  make  her  a 
comfortable  support,  and  what  is  more,  has  become 
idle  and  drunken.  I  met  her  a  few  months  ago  in 
the  street,  and  barely  recognized  her,  she  was  so 
changed.  '  While  we  were  companions,  she  was  a 
round-faced,  rosy-cheeked,  happy-hearted  girl,  as 
neat  and  tidy,  always,  as  if  she  were  just  out  of  a 
band-box.  How  different  she  looked,  when  I  saw 
her  after  the  passage  of  a  few  years  !  I  could  not 
realize  that  the  pale,  thin,  dejected-looking  creature, 
with  poor,  soiled  garments,  that  I  held  by  the  hand, 
could  possibly  be  my  old  friend.  But  it  was,  alas ! 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  53 

too  true.  The  former  regard  I  had  entertained  for 
her,  came  back  upon  my  heart,  and  melted  me 
almost  to  tears.  Following  the  impulses  of  my 
feelings,  I  walked  with  her  to  her  home,  which 
was  a  single  room,  in  the  second  story  of  a  house 
standing  in  a  small,  retired  street.  There  were,  in 
this  room,  three  little  children,  as  miserable  in  ap 
pearance  as  their  mother.  To  support  these,  or, 
to  make  up  the  deficiency  in  their  support,  arising 
from  their  father's  idleness,  or  waste  of  money  that 
he  earned,  in  drink,  she  had  to  work  with  her 
needle,  in  binding  shoes,  nearly  two-thirds  of  her 
time.  When  I  learned  this,  I  was  less  surprised 
to  find  them  miserably  clad,  and  the  apartment 
which  they  occupied,  as  comfortless  and  untidy  as 
it  could  well  be.  I  tried  to  encourage  her  to 
pay  more  regard  to  having  things  around  her 
orderly  and  clean.  But  she  only  wept  at  this,  and 
said  she  had  no  kind  of  heart  to  do  any  thing  but 
keep  her  children  from  starving.  That  her  hus 
band  drank  up  nearly  all  that  he  earned,  and  left 
the  whole  burden  of  every  thing  upon  her.  I 
found  that  she  was  quite  spirit-broken.  That  she 
had  no  hope  of  ever  rising  to  a  better  condition, 
or  of  doing  more,  if  even  she  could  succeed  in  that, 
than  barely  keeping  her  children  from  being  hungry 


54  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

and  cold.  I  left  her,  I  can  assure  you,  with  a 
sad  heart.  It '  is  painful,  indeed,  to  see  the  spirit 
of  any  one  so  broken  down  as  to  leave  her  no 
hope  of  rising  from  a  low  and  miserable  condition. 
Since  then,  I  have  called  to  see  her,  as  a  matter  of 
duty,  several  times.  For  her  children  I  have  bought 
and  made  clothes  ;  and  also  one  or  two  comfortable 
dresses  for  herself.  But  there  is  little  encouragement 
to  do  this.  It  only  causes  her  worthless  husband 
to  spend  more  upon  his  vile  indulgences. 

*'  But  I  am  wandering  away  from  my  own 
story,  forgetful  that  you  cannot  take  the  same  in 
terest  in  one  who  had  been  my  friend  and  com 
panion.  As  I  have  said,  I  made  it  a  matter  of 
fixed  principle  not  to  associate  with  any  if  they 
were  not  such  as  were  calculated  to  elevate  rather 
than  depress  me ;  and  in  abiding  by  this  resolu 
tion,  the  memory  of  my  father  and  mother  saved 
me  in  all  temptations.  My  condition  in  Mrs. 

L 's  family  was  one  in  no  way  congenial  to 

my  feelings.  The  hard  drudgery  of  a  kitchen,  as 
you  may  well  suppose,  suited  not  my  slender 
body  nor  my  mind,  that  was  ever  rising  above 
the  station  I  occupied,  although  it  did  not  prevent 
me  from  being  faithful  in  it.  There  was  one  per 
son  besides  myself  whose  business  it  was  to  per- 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  55 

form  the  various  duties  required  of  domestics.  As 
the  family  was  large,  and  we  had  all  the  washing 
and  ironing  to  do,  you  may  well  suppose  that  we 
were  worked  pretty  hard.  I  never  objected  to 
this,  for  I  was  always  willing — and  moreover,  a 
kind  and  encouraging  word  from  Mrs.  L— -  was 
always  stimulant  enough  to  keep  me  going  from 
day  dawn  until  midnight,  without  a  murmuring 
word  or  thought.  My  duties  were  as  varied  as 
they  well  could  be.  I  helped  wash,  iron,  and 
cook,  after  I  had  become  old  enough ;  went  through 
all  the  chambers  and  the  parlors,  and  did  all  the 
marketing,  both  buying  it  and  carrying  it  home. 
This  last  was  very  hard  labor.  We  lived  a  long 
distance  from  the  market-house,  and  the  baskets 
were  very  heavy.  I  generally  had  to  go  twice. 
In  warm  weather,  towards  the  last,  I  found  it  very 
severe ;  sometimes  after  I  got  home  I  would  not 
get  over  the  trembling  that  carrying  two  heavy 
baskets  produced,  for  several  hours.  Once  I 
fainted  in  the  street,  and  had  to  be  brought  home. 
"  As  I  grew  up  tall  and  slender,  and  the  time  ap 
proached  when  I  should  be  free  from  service,  I 
began  to  think  about  the  future,  and  myself  as  a 
woman.  That  I  would  not  remain  a  mere  house 
servant,  was  at  once  determined  in  my  own  mind. 


56  THE   LADY   AT  HOME. 

I  saw  nothing  wrong  or  disgraceful  in  it,  but  it  did 
not  suit  my  tastes  and  ideas  at  all.  '  How  would 
my  parents  feel,  could  they  see  me  as  I  now  am  V 
was  a  thought  that  exercised  likewise  a  controlling 
influence  over  me.  I  felt  it  due  to  them  to  rise 
into  a  higher  condition.  Looking  at  this,  I  began 
to  read  more  than  I  had  done.  This  I  could  do 
by  sitting  up  an  hour  later  every  night ;  books  I 
obtained  from  Mr.  L— -'s  library,  and  the  news 
papers,  which  occupied  the  most  of  my  time  thus 
devoted,  were  always  lying  about.  One  day  a 
book  that  I  was  reading  was  missed  from  the 
library,  and  hearing  it  asked  for,  I  said  that  I  had 
it,  and  immediately  ran  to  the  garret  and  brought 
it  down.  It  was  Fenelon's  Telemachus.  Mr. 

L looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  surprise 

when  I  handed  it  to  him,  but  said  nothing.     After 

he  had  left  the  room,  Mrs.  L said  that  she 

hoped  it  would  be  the  last  time  I  took  any  of  Mr. 

L 's  books  up  into  my  room — any  how,  she 

didn't  see  what  time  I  had  to  read  books.  I  told 
her  that  I  read  at  night  after  I  had  done  work. 

"'  Well,  I  can't  have  that,  Mary,'  she  replied; 
'  you  will  injure  your  health  by  sitting  up  to  read 
at  night,  after  you  are  tired  with  working  all  day, 
and  besides,  I  don't  like  to  have  candles  taken  up 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  57 

into  the  garret  to  read  by  ;  it  is  dangerous.  You 
might  fall  asleep  and  set  the  house  on  fire.' 

" « O,  no,'  I  urged,  '  there  isn't  any  danger  at 
all.  I  never  get  sleepy  when  I  have  a  book  to 
read.' 

"  « I  can't  have  it,  Mary  ;  so  let  that  settle  the 
matter,'  she  said  to  this,  in  a  rebuking,  decided 
tone. 

"  I  left  the  room  without  a  word.  I  can  hardly 
tell  how  I  felt ;  not  in  a  good  spirit,  certainly. 
Never  before  had  I  permitted  myself  to  indulge 

against  Mrs.  L bad  thoughts.  But  I  could 

not  help  it  now  ;  and  the  moment  I  suffered  my 
heart  to  rebel  against  arbitrary  dictation,  there 
rushed  into  my  mind  a  flood  of  accusing  thoughts. 
Scales  seemed  to  have  dropped  from  my  eyes.  I 

saw  my  relation  to  Mrs.  L in  a  new  light 

altogether.  I  asked  myself  how  she  would  like  a 
child  of  hers,  no  one  of  whom  had  been  cared  for 
and  loved  more  tenderly  than  I  had  been,  treated 
just  as  she  had  treated  me  ;  made  a  mere  working 
machine,  as  I  had  been  made,  and  not  a  thought 
given  to  her  mind,  not  a  provision  made  for  her 
future  elevation  above  an  uncongenial  condition  ? 
Such,  thoughts,  you  may  well  suppose,  did  not 
make  me  feel  any  happier.  From  that  time  until 
8 


58  THE   LADY    AT    HOME. 

I  left  Mrs.  L ,  I  became  a  dissatisfied  mur- 

murer — not  openly,  but  in  silence  ;  but  I  am  not 
conscious  of  having  during  that  time  neglected  a 
task,  or  of  having  shown  any  reluctance  to  perform 
even  the  most  unpleasant  and  trying  duties  imposed 
upon  me.  I  never  afterwards  touched  a  book  in 
the  library.  The  newspapers  I  read,  as  usual, 
whenever  I  could  find  a  leisure  moment.  To  do 
this,  I  would  sit  up  later  in  the  kitchen,  and  in  the 
summer  time  rise  half  an  hour  earlier.  The  great 
variety  of  topics  introduced  into  the  newspapers 
furnished  my  mind  with  general  ideas,  and  these 
I  thought  about  all  day  while  attending  faithfully 
to  my  calling.  All  I  read,  tended  to  fix  in  me  a 

determination  to  leave  Mrs.  L and  learn  a 

trade  so  soon  as  I  became  of  age.  This  I  men 
tioned  to  her  about  three  months  before  my  time 
was  up.  She  seemed  surprised  that  I  should  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing,  and  at  once  opposed  my 
intended  plan.  The  ground  she  took  was,  that  as 
I  was  not  of  a  very  robust  constitution,  and  had 
been  used  to  an  active  life,  the  change  to  one  so 
quiet  and  inactive  as  that  of  a  seamstress,  would 
undermine  my  health.  I  felt  that  there  was  some 
force  in  this,  but  not  sufficient  to  deter  me  from 
making  the  trial — so  fixed  was  my  repugnance  to 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  59 

remaining  as  I  then  was.     Mrs.  L saw  that 

her  arguments  did  not  bear  very  strongly  upon 
my  mind,  and  this  evidently  vexed  her.  I  did  not 
then  think  that  there  was  any  thing  selfish  in  her 
opposition, — I  wish  I  could  think  so  now.  What 
I  have  since  seen  of  the  inefficiency,  dishonesty, 
and  want  of  almost  every  virtue  in  many  domes 
tics  in  other  families,  leaves  me  not  at  all  in  wonder 

that  Mrs.  L should  have  felt  unpleasant  at 

the  thought  of  losing  the  services  of  one  who  had 
never  shrunk  from  any  task,  and  who  had  relieved 
her  from  the  burden  of  half  her  family  duties  for 
years.  But  this  does  not  make  right  the  attempt  to 
•epress  and  oppress  a  friendless  girl.  She  ought 
to  have  manifested  towards  me  some  generous  in 
terest  after  the  term  of  my  service  had  expired, 
especially  as  I  had  faithfully  worked  for  her  during 
the  whole  of  that  term,  and  been  rewarded  with 
only  poor  and  scanty  clothing  and  the  food  I  daily 
eat.  How  grateful  would  I  have  been  for  a  few 
months'  schooling !  or  for  even  a  few  hours  to 
myself  during  each  week,  when  not  pressed  down 
with  fatigue,  with  the  encouragement  to  read  and 
the  right  kind  of  books  provided  for  me.  But  it 
was  not  dreamed  that  I,  a  poor  bound  girl,  had 
any  need  of  other  food  than  bodily  food,  or  of 


60  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

other  clothing  than  bodily  clothing ;  that  I  was 
ever  hungry,  except  for  the  bread  and  meat  that 
perishes. 

"  On  attaining  my  eighteenth  year,  Mrs.  L 

gave  me  a  new  bonnet,  very  plain  and  common, 
an  ordinary  calico  dress,  a  suit  of  under  clothes, 
and  a  pair  of  shoes  and  stockings.  This  formed 
the  best  of  every  thing  I  had,  and  was,  no  doubt, 
considered  By  her  very  good  and  very  liberal 
for  one  in  my  condition.  Besides  these,  I  had 
only  a  few  worn  and  faded  frocks,  and  some 
thin,  patched  under  clothes,  and  two  or  three  pairs 
of  well-darned  stockings.  In  order  to  learn  the 
trade  of  dress-making,  which  I  preferred  to  ajj 
others,  it  would  be  necessary  for  me  to  give  my 
services  for  one  year,  and  pay,  besides,  a  fee  of 
thirty  dollars.  This  included  boarding  in  the 
family  of  the  person  from  whom  I  learned.  But 
I  could  not  pay  any  fee,  for  I  had  no  money. 
There  was,  however,  another  way.  I  could,  by 
working  two  years,  avoid  giving  any  fee.  But 
two  years  was  a  long  time  to  serve,  and  I  hadn't 
clothes  for  one  year,  much  less  for  two.  There 
was  still  another  plan.  By  boarding  out  of  the 
house,  I  could  get  a  trade  in  one  year.  This  last 
plan  I  selected  as  the  only  one  open  to  me.  Of 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  61 

course,  to  enter  into  it,  I  must  find  some  one  will 
ing  to  board  me  for  what  I  could  do  before  break 
fast  in  the  morning,  and  after  tea  in  the  evening; 
and  I  must,  besides,  have  clothes  enough  to  last 
for  a  year,  and  these  must  be  of  a  kind  and  quality, 
in  which  I  could  appear,  without  attracting  notice, 
among  the  young  misses  of  the  work  room. 

"  The  place  to  board  I  did  not  know,  nor  had  I 
the  required  stock  of  clothing.  But  I  was  not 
discouraged.  Friendless  stranger  as  I  was,  every 

where  beyond   the    threshold  of  Mrs.  L 's 

door,  I  nevertheless  resolved  to  have  a  trade,  and 
in  the  way  just  mentioned.  But,  first,  it  would 
be  necessary  for  me  to  work  for  wages,  until  I 
had  obtained  genteel  clothing  sufficient  to  last  me 
for  a  year — and  during  the  time  thus  engaged,  I 
felt  sure  that  I  could  find  some  one  who,  for  the 
little  I  would  eat,  would  be  willing  to  accept  about 
five  hours'  service  from  me  every  day.  I  frankly 

stated  to  Mrs.  L my  intention,  as  soon  as  I 

gained  my  eighteenth  year.  She  said  I  mustn't 
think  of  such  a  thing.  That  it  would  kill  me. 
That  the  change  from  my  active  life,  to  the  inaction 
of  a  work  room,  would  be  severe  enough — indeed 
too  severe  for  me — without  adding  labor  before 
6 


62  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

day  in  the  morning,  and  after  night,  for  the  sake 
of  getting  my  board.  I  did  not  reply  to  her  argu 
ment  ;  but  my  mind  was  fixed. 

"  The  wages  tendered  me  by  Mrs.  L was 

three  dollars  a  month,  scarcely  half  what  my  ser 
vices  were  worth  to  her,  and  certainly  not  one- 
half  what  she  would  have  been  willing  to  give  me 
rather  than  lose  my  services,  as  her  own  ofTer 
afterwards  showed.  My  great  reluctance  to  go 
ing  into  any  other  family  to  do  housework,  caused 
me  to  accept  the  poor  compensation  offered.  On 
three  dollars  a  month,  it  took  me  a'  whole  year  to 
earn  thirty-six  dollars,  all  of  which  I  laid  out  in 
the  most  careful  manner,  for  good  articles  of 
clothing,  which  I  made  up  with  my  own  hands 
after  I  had  finished  my  daily  labors.  I  said  no 
thing  about  a  trade  to  Mrs.  L ,  nor  she  to 

me.  This  would  only  have  interrupted  the  good 
feeling  between  us,  and  I  loved  peace,  kind  looks, 
and  kind  words  too  well  to  risk  any  allusion  to 
the  subject.  But  I  was,  notwithstanding,  firm  in 
my  resolution.  „  Towards  the  end  of  the  year,  I 
happened  to  learn,  seemingly  by  accident,  of  a 
lady  and  her  daughter,  in  reduced  circumstances, 
who  would  be  glad  to  enter  into  just  such  an 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  63 

arrangement  with  some  one  as  I  wished  to  make. 
I  went  to  see  them,  and  they  at  once  agreed  to 
accept  my  services  as  a  domestic,  for  my  board. 

"  As  soon  as  I  had  all  my  arrangements  com 
pleted,  even  to  the  engagement  of  myself  to  a 

dress-maker  for  a  year,  I  told  Mrs.  L what 

I  had  done.  She  became  instantly  very  angry, 
and  charged  me  with  ingratitude  towards  her. 
Said  she  had  taken  me  out  of  the  street,  when  I 
would  soon  have  been  sent  to  the  poorhouse,  and 
had  been  at  a  great  deal  of  pains  and  trouble  to 
make  something  out  of  me  ;  and  now,  just  when 
my  services  were  becoming  of  some  value  to  her,  I 
was  about  going  away.  But  this  was  just  the  way 
persons  of  my  class  always  served  their  benefac 
tors.  We  were  an  ungrateful  set.  And  a  great 
deal  more  to  the  same  effect.  I  cannot  tell  yon, 
Mrs.  Elmwood,  how  this  hurt  me.  I  had  loved 

Mrs.  L ,  notwithstanding  I  often  felt  as  if  she 

might  look  more  closely  to  my  good,  as  a  human 
being  and  a  Christian.  She  was  uniformly  kind 
in  her  manner  towards  me — and  for  this  I  loved 
her.  But  now,  the  charge  of  ingratitude,  and  the 
assumption  that  she  had  done  so  much  for  me — 
when  it  was  too  painfully  evident,  that  she  cared 
not  a  straw  for  me,  apart  from  the  service  I  could 


64 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 


render  her,  and  which  she  could  not  get  from  any 
one  else — wrought  a  great  change  in  my  feelings. 
In  spite  of  a  severe  struggle  with  myself,  I  could 
not  help  despising  her  for  her  narrow  minded, 
selfish  desire  to  grind  down  and  oppress  a  poor, 
friendless  girl.  Instantly  my  mind  threw  off  the 
feeling  of  deference,  and  the  oppressing  sense  of 
infirmity  with  which  it  had  always  bowed  in  her 
presence,  and  I  stood  before  her  in  calm,  silent, 
conscious  superiority.  I  might  be  able  to  give 
my  body  to  be  burned,  but  to  act  towards  any 
one  with  the  selfish  desire  to  oppress  that  she  had 
acted  towards  me,  was  contrary  to  my  nature, 
and  could  not  be  done.  I  made  no  reply,  but 
turned  from  her  presence,  and  left  the  room.  I 
had  yet  a  month  to  stay,  before  the  period  arrived 
at  which  I  was  to  enter  upon  my  new  term  of 

service.     During  that  period,  Mrs.  L hardly 

spoke  to  me,  and  whenever  I  happened  to  be  where 
she  was,  her  manner  towards  me  was  cold,  con 
strained,  and  bore  the  appearance  of  anger. 

"  At  last  the  time  came  for  me  to  leave  my 
home  of  eight  years.     It  was  a  hard  trial.     All 

the  kind  feelings  I  had  entertained  for  Mrs.  L 

came  back  upon  my  heart  with  double  force  from 
their  temporary  suspension.  But  she  did  not 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  65 

even  allow  me  to  take  her  hand  in  parting,  and 
her  cold  *  Good-bye,  Mary,'  chilled  me  through 
and  through.  As  I  have  before  said,  I  went  back 
to  the  house,  once,  to  see  her,  but  she  sent  down 
word  that  she  was  engaged.  I  understood  very 
well  what  that  meant,  and  never  went  there  again. 
Twice  I  met  her  in  the  street,  and  paused,  invol 
untarily,  but  she  nodded  coldly,  and  passed  on. 
Here  I  met  her  the  third  time.  I  need  not  tell 
you  how  I  was  received.  All  this  hurts  me  more 
than  any  one  can  tell. 

"  For  the  first  six  months  after  going  to  my 
trade,  the  loss  of  her  kindness,  and  the  absence 
of  her  face — that  long  familiarity  had  rendered 
almost  like  a  mother's  face  to  me — preyed  upon 
my  mind  so,  that  I  lost  my  appetite.  The  change 
in  my  mode  of  life  was  trying  enough  to  a  deli 
cate  frame,  even  with  a  cheerful  mind.  But  to 
sit  and  sew  for  ten  hours  each  day,  when  for 
eight  years  I  had  been  engaged  in  vigorous  bodily 
exercise,  and  to  have  added  to  this  such  depressed 
feelings,  that  when  I  sat  down  to  my  meals  the 
food  had  no  sweet  taste  for  my  mouth,  was  more 
than  I  could  well  bear  up  under.  I  soon  had  a 
constant  pain  in  my  side,  and  grew  pale  and  lan 
guid.  In  the  mornings  when  I  awoke,  I  felt  so 
6* 


66  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

sluggish  that  I  could  with  difficulty  force  myself 
to  get  up ;  and  after  I  had  prepared  breakfast  for 
the  family  in  which  I  was  working  for  my  board, 
had  to  force  myself  to  eat  a  few  mouthfuls. 

"  By  the  time  my  year  was  up  I  found  my 
system  greatly  enfeebled.  My  appetite  never 
came  back.  Night  after  night  I  would  dream  of 
seeing  spread  out  before  me  tables  covered  with 
tempting  food,  of  which  a  keen  sense  of  hunger 
would  prompt  me  to  reach  out  my  hand  to  par 
take,  when  all  would  vanish ;  but  when  day  had 
come,  I  loathed  the  food  that  was  set  before  me. 
Released  from  my  close  confinement  of  a  whole 
year,  I  resolved  to  give  myself  more  exercise  in 
the  open  air ;  to  sit  at  the  work  table  less  than  ten 
hours,  until  I  got  back  the  healthy  action  in  my 
body.  This  was  more. easily  resolved  than  done. 
It  was  a  very  busy  season,  and  the  dress-maker 
with  whom  I  had  served  my  time,  wished  me  to 
continue  sewing  for  her  a  couple  of  months  on 
wages,  until  the  press  of  business  was  over.  I 
consented ;  and,  as  I  did  not  now  have  to  work  for 
my  boarding,  instead  of  sewing  ten  hours,  I  often 
worked  twelve.  Of  course,  this  did  me  no  good. 
The  exercise  I  had  necessarily  to  take  in  doing  tho 
housework  of  the  family  where  I  boarded,  was  far 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  67 

better  for  me  than  the  new  system  of  lying  in  bed 
an  hour  later  in  the  morning  and  sitting  at  the  work 
table  two  hours  later  in  the  evening.  Indeed,  I 
now  got  no  exercise  at  all  worth  speaking  of. 

"  At  the  end  of  the  two  months,  when  work  fell 
off,  I  had  become  so  weak  that  it  was  with  diffi 
culty  I  could  get  through  the  duties  of  the  day. 
My  face  had  become  very  pale,  my  whole  body 
emaciated,  and  my  frame  so  enfeebled  that  the 
effort  to  walk  from  the  work  room  to  my  boarding 
house,  only  a  few  squares,  made  me  tremble  all 
over.  It  was  good  for  me  that  I  could  get  no 
more  work  to  do  for  three  months.  I  was  a 
stranger  in  the  city  where  I  had  lived  for  nine 
years,  and  knew  not  to  what  family  to  offer  my 
services.  This  troubled  me  a  good  deal,  although 
in  the  place  where  I  boarded,  services  rendered  in 
various  ways  saved  me  all  expense,  except  for 
clothes.  In  the  two  months  that  I  received  money 
for  my  work,  I  made,  clear  of  what  I  paid  for 
boarding,  sixteen  dollars.  This,  carefully  laid 
out,  provided  me  with  clothes  suitable  to  make  an 
appearance  in  families  where  I  wished  to  get  em 
ployment.  I  had  nearly  recovered  my  health,  or 
apparently  so,  when  I  got  a  place  to  sew  for  three 
or  four  weeks.  When  through  there,  another 


68  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

family  wanted  my  services,  and  ever  since  I  have 
been  kept  busy  :  but  I  am  very  much  afraid,  Mrs. 
Elmwood,  that  my  health  has  received  a  shock 
from  which  it  will  not  easily  recover.  Mrs. 

L was  right  when  she  said  that  to  change 

my  mode  of  life  so  thoroughly  would  be  more  than 
I  could  bear ;  and  yet  I  feel  sure  that  if  she  had 
kindly  encouraged  me  when  she  saw  how  desirous 
I  was  of  learning  a  trade,  had  procured  for  me  a 
good  place,  and  then  let  me  have  continued  at  my 
old  home  until  I  had  finished  my  trade,  it  would 
have  been  very  different  with  me.  I  know  that 
it  was  my  mind  that  destroyed  my  appetite,  and 
without  an  appetite  for  wholesome  food,  how  could 
I  bear  up  under  severer  trials  of  body. 

"  But  I  fear  that  I  have  already  more  than 
wearied  you  out  with  the  story  of  my  poor  life ; 
and  I  am  not  sure  that  in  speaking  so  freely  of 

Mrs.   L as  I  have  done,  I  have  not  been 

wrong — but  what  I  have  said  is  said,  and  cannot 
now  be  recalled." 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 


CHAPTER  V.  » 

MY    OLD    WASHERWOMAN. 

IT  was  on  Monday,  our  regular  washing  day, 
that  Mary  M'Lean  told  me  her  history,  and  I  was 
sitting,  a  little  while  before  the  dusk  of  evening, 
thinking  it  over,  and  wondering  in  my  own  mind 

how  any  one  could  be  so  unjust  as  Mrs.  L 

had  been  to  Mary.  It  was  so  much  worse,  be 
cause  it  was  the  strong  oppressing  the  weak.  I 
was  thus  musing  when  Nancy,  my  old  colored 
washerwoman,  whom  I  have  paid  regularly  every 
week  for  her  day's  work  at  the  washing  tub,  during 
the  past  six  years,  presented  herself  at  the  door  of 
my  room,  as  has  always  been  her  custom,  to  notify 
me  that  her  part  of  the  contract  had  been  fulfilled, 
and  that  it  was  now  time  for  me  to  fulfil  my  por 
tion  of  it.  It  so  happened  that,  for  the  first  time, 
I  had  not  the  accustomed  half  dollar  ready  for  her. 
I  had  three  or  four  silver  dollars  in  change,  but  I 
only  owed  her  half  a  dollar,  and  so  could  not  make 
it  out. 

"  I  havn't  a  single  half  dollar  in  change,  Nancy," 


70  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

I  said,  looking  up  into  the  old  woman's  face  ;  "but 
no  matter,  it  will  do  as  well  next  Monday,  when 
you  come  again." 

For  a  moment  Nancy  hesitated,  and  I  could  see 
that  she  was  disappointed.  Then  she  turned  and 
walked  slowly  away  without  saying  a  word.  I 
did  not  like  this.  Punctually,  for  six  years,  had  I 
paid  her  at  the  close  of  every  washing  day,  and 
now,  it  happening  that  I  could  not  make  the  change, 
she  was  not  pleased.  Thus  I  thought,  and  per 
mitted  such  thoughts  to  linger  in  my  mind,  until  I 
grew  quite  angry  in  my  feelings  towards  old  Nancy. 
I  called  her  greedy ;  and  permitted  myself  to 
imagine  that  she  was  afraid  I  would  not  pay  her. 
The  more  I  thought  about  it,  the  more  my  mind 
became  disturbed,  and  the  more  unkind  things  did 
I  permit  myself  to  harbor  against  her. 

In  the  evening,  when  my  husband  came  in,  he 
noticed  in  a  moment  that  my  mind  was  not  in  a 
placid  state. 

"  Has  any  thing  happened  to  disturb  you, 
Mary  ?"  he  asked,  in  his  usually  kind  way. 

"  Yes,  there  has,"  I  returned  in  a  petulant  tone, 
"  and  I  feel  vexed,  in  spite  of  myself." 

"  Pray,  what  ha.s  occurred,  Mary,  thus  to  disturb 
your  usually  quiet  mind?" 


THE   LADY   AT   HOME.  71 

"  Oh,  nothing  to  trouble  yon,"  I  replied,  seeing 
that  my  husband  looked  uneasy.  "  I  am  a  little 
foolish,  no  doubt,  but  then  I  can't  help  it.  I  hap 
pened  not  to  have  half  a  dollar  in  change  to-day, 
when  Nancy  finished  her  washing.  It  is  the  first 
time  it  has  happened  for  six  years,  and  so  I  told 
her  that  I  would  hand  it  to  her  on  next  Monday, 
when  she  came.  But  the  old  thing  (I  never  spoke 
of  her  so  before,)  hesitated,  and  didn't  seem  willing 
to  go  without  her  money.  It  vexed  me  downright 
— just  as  if  I  would  cheat  her  out  of  it." 

I  must  confess  that  when  I  came  to  relate  the 
matter  to  my  husband,  I  felt  a  little  ashamed  about 
it.  It  sounded  rather  foolish  even  to  my  ears. 

"Did  you  get  the  half  dollar  for  her?"  he 
asked,  as  soon  as  I  had  closed  my  brief  relation. 

"  No,  I  did  not :  I  wasn't  going  to  humor  her 
in  that  way." 

"  I'm  afraid  my  good  wife  is  in  the  wr.ong  this 
time,"  my  husband  said,  with  his  usual  honest 
frankness.  "  Nancy  had  earned  her  money,  and 
was  entitled  to  it." 

"  I  know  that  well  enough,"  I  returned  ;  "  but 
then  the  mere  trifle  of  half  a  dollar  was  not  a  matter 
of  so  much  consequence  as  to  make  her  afraid  to 
let  it  lie  in  my  hands  for  one  week.  She  never 


72  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

had  to  wait  an  hour  in  her  life  before  for  what  I 
owed  her." 

"  Why  should  you  think  it  involved  a  doubt  of 
your  honesty,  Mary  ?"  responded  my  husband. 
"  Can  you  not  imagine  some  other  reason?" 

"  What  other  reason  could  there  be  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Want  of  money  was  no  doubt  the  true  reason. 
A  washerwoman  earns  so  little  that  she  can  never 
have  much  ahead  at  any  time.  A  half  dollar  a 
day  for  three  or  four  days  in  the  week,  does  not 
make  up  a  very  large  income,  and  will  rarely  per 
mit  the  person  who  earns  it  to  lay  by  much.  No 
doubt  poor  old  Nancy  is  at  this  moment  suffering 
privation  of  some  kind  in  consequence  of  not  hav 
ing  received  her  hard  day's  earnings." 

N  "  0  no,  husband,  I  have  no  idea  of  that,"  I  re 
plied,  in  a  changed  tone.  "  Nancy  lives  very 
comfortably,  I  believe.  She  doesn't  want  for  any 
thing." 

"  Do  not  be  so  certain  of  that.  Her  wants  may 
be  small,  but  her  means  of  support  are  small  like 
wise.  Depend  upon  it,  her  exhibition  of  disap 
pointment  to-day  arose  from  a  deeper  source  than  a 
mere  desire  to  get  her  money  that  she  might 
possess  it,  and  lay  it  by." 

I  did  not  reply  to  this,  because  it  set  me  to  think- 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  73 

ing — and  my  thoughts  troubled  me.  While  I 
permitted  myself  to  be  displeased  with  Nancy,  I 
could  indulge  in  an  accusing  spirit  against  her :  but 
now,  a  feeling  of  kindness  had  been  awakened  by 
my  husband's  remarks,  and  this  gained  strength 
every  moment,  until  my  heart  was  pained  at  the 
thought  that  the  poor  creature  might  actually  be 
suffering  because  I  had  neglected  to  have  the  small 
pittance  she  had  earned  by  a  hard  day's  labour, 
ready  for  her  when  her  work  was  done. 

"I  am  sorry  I  did  not  give  her  a  dollar,  and 
thus  pay  her  in  advance  for  next  week,  instead  of 
making  her  wait  a  week  for  what  she  had  earned," 
I  said,  half  aloud. 

"  That  would  have  been  better,  Mary,"  my 
husband  replied.  "  But  it  is  not  too  late,  yet, 
to  repair  your  error.  Do  you  know  where  she 
lives?" 

"  The  cook  does,  I  believe." 

"  Then  call  her  up,  and  send  her  with  the  half 
dollar  to  Nancy." 

"  I  will,  after  tea,"  I  answered*. 

"0  no.  Send  her  before  tea.  Let  us  wait. 
Perhaps  the  poor  old  creature  has  a  use  for  that 
single  half  dollar,  of  which  we  dream  not." 

The  cook  was  called  up,  but  she  said  that  Nancy 
7 


74  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

lived  at  No.  10  L street,  which  was  a  long 

distance  from  our  house. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  my  husband  ;  "  I  will  walk 
down  that  way  after  tea." 

"  O  no.     I  wouldn't  do  that,"  I  said. 

"  I  would  rather,"  was  his  quiet,  firm  reply. 
Whenever  he  spoke  in  the  peculiar  tone  in  which 
he  uttered  his  last  remark,  I  never  objected  further ; 
and  so  I  remained  silent. 

After  tea,  he,  put  on  his  hat  and  walked  out.  He 
did  not  return  for  an  hour.  When  he  came  in  he 
looked  serious. 

"  Did  you  find  her,  dear  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

"And  did  she  really  stand  in  need  of  the 
money  ?" 

"Listen,  and  you  shall  learn,"  he  replied. 
"  You  remember  old  Nancy  had  a  daughter  who 
was  married  a  few  years  ago.  Well,  I  found  that 

the  old  woman  lived  in  a  room  up  stairs  in  L 

street,  and  that  this  daughter  was  with  her,  quite 
sick.  Her  husband  had  treated  her  badly,  and  had 
gone  off  to  New  Orleans,  some  weeks  ago.  When 
I  entered  old  Nancy's  poorly  furnished  room,  she 
arose  very  quickly  to  her  feet,  and  looked  very 
much  surprised  to  see  me." 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME.  75 

"  « Mrs.  Elmwood,'  I  said  to  her  in  as  kind  a 
voice  as  I  could  assume,  '  is  sorry  that  she  hadn't 
the  change  to  give  you  to-day  for  your  washing. 
She  has  thought,  since  you  went  away,  that  per 
haps  you  might  want  it,  and  as  I  thought  so  too, 
I  have  stepped  in  to  give  it  to  you.' 

"  The  poor  old  creature  seemed  touched  at  this. 
Her  voice  choked  as  she  attempted  to  utter  her 
thanks,  and  then  she  held  down  her  head*  and 
seemed  a  good  deal  moved. 

'*  *  Is  this  your  daughter  ?'  I  asked,  wishing  to 
relieve  her  from  the  embarrassment  she  seemed  to 
feel. 

"  She  said  that  it  was.  That  she  had  been  sick 
for  some  weeks.  That  her  husband  had  gone  off 
and  left  her,  and  all  the  burden  of  her  care  and 
support  in  sickness  had  fallen  upon  her.  I  con 
tinued  to  question  her,  and  get  her  free  and  artless 
answers,  until  I  learned  that  since  Saturday  they 
had  had  but  little  food,  and  that  she  had  not  been 
able  to  buy  the  medicine  ordered  by  the  doctor  for 
her  daughter. 

"  *  Mrs.  Elmwood  had  always  paid  me  as  soon 
as  ;ny  washing  is  done,'  she  went  on,  '  and  so  I 
told  Jane  she  must  bear  every  thing  as  well  as  she 
could,  until  I  came  home  this  evening,  when  I 


76  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

would  get  her  some  medicine,  and  cook  something 
nice  for  her  to  eat.  I  worked  harder  than  usual, 
thinking  all  the  time  of  my  poor  sick  child.  At 
last  I  finished,  and  went  up,  as  I  always  do,  to  get 
my  money.  But  Mrs.  Elmwood  hadn't  any 
change !  I  can't  tell  you  how  bad  I  felt  as  I  went 
home.  I  hated  to  come  into  my  room  to  see  Jane. 
When  I  did  get  home,  my  poor  child  looked  at  me 
with  a  look  that  made  my  heart  ache.  She  had 
waited,  I  could  see,  patiently  all  day,  alone  in  her 
sick  bed,  and  now  her  wants  were  to  be  satisfied. 
But  I  had  to  disappoint  her.  She  tried  not  to 
show  how  bad  she  felt  when  I  told  her  that  Mrs. 
Elmwood  had  not  paid  me,  but  the  tears  ran  down 
her  face.' 

"  I  could  hear  no  more.  *  Here  is  your  money, 
Nancy,  and  as  much  more  into  the  bargain,  to 
make  up  for  your  disappointment,'  I  said,  hand 
ing  her  a  dollar.  I  would  have  given  her  more, 
had  I  yielded  to  my  feelings.  But  I  knew  that 
sum  would  meet  all  her  immediate  wants.  I  then 
broke  away  from  the  grateful  creature,  as  well  as 
I  could,  assuring  her  that  while  her  daughter  lay 
sick  she  should  have  three  quarters  a  day  for 
washing  at  our  home — the  pay  never  to  fail." 

The  narrative  of  my  husband  rebuked  and  hum- 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  77 

oled  me.  I  both  saw  and  felt  that  I  had  acted 
wrong  in  not  thinking  beforehand,  and  providing 
the  change  for  my  washerwoman — and  still  more 
wrongly  in  suffering  my  mind  to  blame  her  for 
appearing  to  feel  disappointed,  when  she  had  so 
much  cause  to  be  really  distressed,  at  not  receiving 
her  hard-earned  wages. 

"  I  will  be  more  considerate  in  future,"  I  said 
to  my  husband,  after  I  had  sat  silent  for  some  time, 
drying  my  eyes  as  I  spoke. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will,  Mary,"  he  replied.  "  Of 
the  poor  people  who  work  for  us,  we  never  can  be 
too  thoughtful.  It  is  but  little  that  they  can  earn 
at  best,  and  that  little  should  be  promptly  paid ;  for 
it  is  never  earned  before  it  is  needed." 

This  event  humbled  me  a  good  deal.  At  the 
very  time  I  was  looking  intently  at,  and  condemn 
ing  the  fault  of  another,  I  was  permitting  myself 
to  be  led  into  a  fault  of  a  similar  kind.  While 

condemning  Mrs.  L for  oppressing  Mary 

McLean,  I  actually  oppressed  my  poor  old  wash 
erwoman.  Truly  we  are  weak,  sinful,  erring 
mortals  ! 

On  the  next  day  my  husband  brought  home  a 
newspaper,  and  said,  as  he  handed  it  to  me — 

"  There,  wife,  is  a  story  about  a  washerwoman, 
7* 


78  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

which  I  accidentally  came  across  to-day.  It  will 
be  an  excellent  accompaniment  to  our  own  little 
family  incident  of  the  same  kind.  In  this,  how 
ever,  the  wife  puts  the  husband  to  the  blush.  But 
read  it  for  yourself." 

I  took,  the  newspaper  and  found  in  it  a  story 
called  "  THE  WASHERWOMAN'S  BILL,"  which  I 
read  with  a  lively  interest.  As  I  think  it  calcu 
lated  to  do  good,  I  will  venture  to  repeat  it  here, 
for  it  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  new  to  most  of  my 
readers.  Such  domestic  sketches  are  often  strong 
prompters  to  duty.  There  are,  like  myself,  a 
large  number  of  persons  who  need  to  be  often 
reminded  of  their  social  and  domestic  obligations. 
For  my  part,  however,  I  sometimes  almost  despair 
of  ever  being  a  wise,  judicious,  humane  woman. 
Selfishness  is  so  imbedded  in  the  warp  and  woof 
of  my  very  nature,  that  its  eradication  seems  al 
most  impossible.  But  let  me  give  here  the  story 
I  have  promised,  which  I  take,  as  I  have  said, 
from  a  newspaper,  brought  me  by  my  husband. 

THE  WASHERWOMAN'S  BILL. 

"  It's  only  a  trifle,  Harriet,  and  she  cannot 
want  it  very  badly." 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  79 

"  But,  if  it  is  only  a  trifle  to  us,  husband,  it  is 
of  much  importance  to  her." 

"  Well,  I  havn't  got  it  to  spare  to-day,  and  so 
she  will  have  to  wait." 

"  I  am  sorry.  She  will  be  here  this  morning, 
and  I  promised  that  it  should  be  ready  for  her." 

"  Tell  her  to  come  in  a  day  or  two,  Harriet, 
and  she  shall  have  her  money.  Really,  these 
washerwomen  and  seamstresses  are  exceedingly 
troublesome  about  a  trifle,  if  you  happen  to  owe 
it  to  them." 

And  so  saying,  Mr.  Lyons  adjusted  his  collar 
before  the  looking-glass,  drew  on  his  gloves,  and 
departed  for  his  store.  As  he  passed  on  the  way, 
in  a  florist's  window,  a  beautiful  japonica  struck 
his  fancy. 

"What  is  the  price  of  this  japonica?"  he 
asked,  as  he  entered  the  green-house. 

"  Three  dollars." 
,     "  Can  you  send  it  home  for  me  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  My  number  is  60 street,"  Mr.  Lyons 

said,  as  he  threw  down  the  money.  "  Send  it  this 
morning,  I  want  to  take  my  wife,  who  is  passion 
ately  fond  of  camelias,  by  surprise." 

In  the  mee,n  time,  there  was  wending  her  way 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

towards  the  comfortable  dwelling  of  Mr.  Lyons, 
a  poor  widow,  whose  daily  and  nightly  toil  barely 
sufficed  to  procure  for  herself  and  three  little 
ones,  the  scanty  clothes  and  meagre  food  that  na 
ture  required.  During  the  preceding  winter,  a 
too-frequent  exposure  to  cold,  had  brought  on  an 
attack  of  rheumatism,  which,  while  it  did  not 
entirely  prevent  her  from  going  about  her  daily 
occupations,  made  the  performance  of  them  often 
exceedingly  painful,  and  at  all  times  wearisome. 
Heretofore,  a  good  constitution  had  enabled  her 
to  endure  almost  any  degree  of  fatigue — and  she 
had  taxed  herself  to  the  utmost,  for  the  sake  of 
her  children.  Since  the  winter,  however,  her 
strength  had  failed  her,  and  often  she  would  be 
obliged  to  put  by  her  work,  and  lie  down  for  an 
hour  or  so,  to  recover  herself,  and  then,  after  be 
coming  rested,  go  at  it  again.  The  consequence 
was,  that  it  became  much  more  difficult  for  her  to 
provide,  comfortably,  for  her  little  family,  and  she 
was  much  oftener  brought  into  narrow  and  difficult 
places. 

Her  main  dependence  was  in  washing  and  iron 
ing  ;  but  she  likewise  took  in  plain  sewing  from 
the  shops,  over  which  she  toiled  often  until  after 
the  hour  of  midnight.  As  the  spring  advanced, 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  81 

she  grew  feebler  instead  of  gaining  strength,  and 
oftener  experienced  a  sense  of  excessive  fatigue, 
that  made  her  daily  tasks  doubly  burdensome.  The 
tolerably  even  flow  of  spirits  that  health  had  pro 
duced,  was  succeeded  by  periodical  states  of  de 
spondency,  into  which  she  would  fall,  and  suffer 
from  them  exceedingly. 

"  How  do  you  get  along  now,  Mrs.  Grant  ?"  a 
kind  neighbor  said  to  her  one  day  about  this  time, 
when  her  thoughts  were  dark,  and  her  feelings 
gloomy. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  get  along  at  all,  Mrs.  Mason. 
Indeed,  I  can  hardly  get  comfortable  food  for  my 
children  ;  and  in  doing  even  that,  I  feel  overdone 
almost,  every  day.  It  is  a  very  hard  way  to  get 
a  living,  to  have  to  stand  over  the  wash  tub,  Mrs. 
Mason.  But  that  isn't  the  worst.  After  you  have 
earned  your  money  it  is  in  too  many  cases  equally 
hard  to  get  it." 

"  Why  don't  you  wash  for  people  in  good  cir 
cumstances,  Mrs.  Grant?  You  can't  afford  to 
spend  your  time  and  strength  for  such  as  are  too 
proud  or  lazy  to  do  their  own  washing,  and  too 
poor  to  pay  for  it  when  it  is  done  for  them." 

"  I  do  wash  for  people  in  good  circumstances, 
Mrs.  Mason ;  but  it  is  too  often  the  case  that  they 


82  *        THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

are  the  worst  persons,  that  one  who  is  really  poor, 
and  wants  her  money  as  I  do  as  soon  as  it  is 
earned,  can  work  for.  When  you  take  your  clothes 
home,  the  lady  has  no  change,  and  will  pay  you 
the  next  time  you  come,  when  perhaps  you  have 
hurried  back  the  clothes  to  get  something  with 
which  to  go  to  market.  They  never  seem  to  think 
that  a  woman  with  two  or  three  children,  who  is 
compelled  to  support  them  by  taking  in  washing, 
must  want  the  little  that  she  can  make  as  fast  as 
it  is  earned.  But  it  is  not  only  once  that  you  are 
told  to  call  again — the  plea  of  no  change  to-day, 
meets  your  ear  on  almost  every  occasion,  until 
you  are  forced  to  tell  fhem  right  down,  that  neces 
sity  compels  you  to  urge  fbr  the  payment  of  your 
little  dues.  Then,  too  often,  your  importunity 
worries  them,  and  you  feel  sick  at  heart  as  the 
money  is  tendered  to  you  coldly,  and  you  receive 
it  as  if  it  were  a  charity  reluctantly  given,  and  turn 
sadly  away." 

"  Indeed,  then,  it  is  a  shame,"  Mrs.  Mason  said 
with  indignant  warmth. 

"  It  is  very  wrong,"  the  poor  woman  responded, 
"  but  in  most  cases  I  know  that  it  arises  from 
thoughtlessness.  There  are  one  or  two  families 
for  which  I  do  the  washing,  where  the  husbands, 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  83 

I  am  sure,  buy  nearly  every  thing,  and  keep  their 
wives  very  close  for  change.  There  is  Mrs. 
Lyons,  for  instance,  who  I  know  feels  very  friendly 
to  me,  but  I  can  hardly  ever  get  my  money  from 
her  until  my  washing  has  run  on  for  three  or  four 
weeks.  It  is  not  her  fault,  I  am  sure,  for  I  can 
tell  very  well." 

"  But  I  think  she,  and  others  under  like  circum 
stances,  should  insist  upon  their  husbands  leaving 
them  the  money  for  such  bills." 

"  I  suppose  they  would,  Mrs.  Mason,  if  they 
could  have  any  idea  of  how  much  we  poor  people 
stand  in  need  of  the  little  we  earn.  If  they  were 
once  compelled  for  awhile  to  support  themselves 
and  three  or  four  little  children  on  as  many  dollars 
a  week,  and  that  earned  by  standing  over  the 
wash  tub  and  ironing-table,  and  sitting  up  half  the 
night  sewing,  they  would  have  more  consideration 
for  us." 

"  But  all  do  not  treat  you  so,  Mrs.  Grant  ?" 

"  Oh,  no.  There  are  two  ladies  for  whom  I 
wash,  who  have  never  once  told  me  to  call  again, 
nor  even  required  me  to  ask  for  my  money.  The 
first  thing  they  do,  after  I  bring  in  my  clothes,  is 
to  get  me  the  money  for  that  washing.  They  al- 


84  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

ways  think  to  have  the  right  change  laid  by,  and 
always  remember  to  hand  it  to  me." 

"  You  ought  to  give  up  all  who  do  not  treat  you 
in  the  same  way." 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  give  up  a  family,  Mrs. 
Mason,  but  not  so  easy  to  get  another.  I  had  better 
go  twice,  and  even  three  times  for  my  money,  than 
not  have  any  to  go  for." 

"  That  is  very  true,  Mrs.  Grant.  It  is  a  hard 
necessity." 

It  was  about  three  or  four  weeks  after  this,  that 
Mrs.  Grant  found  herself  out  of  flour,  and  out  of 
nearly  every  kind  of  provision.  She  had  not  been 
very  well,  nor  able  to  do  much  work,  and  her  in 
come  was  consequently  smaller.  It  was  Monday 
morning.  On  the  Saturday  evening  previous  she 
had  expended  her  last  half  dollar  in  providing  for 
Sunday,  and  now,  after  the  scanty  breakfast  of 
bread  and  rye  coffee,  there  was  scarcely  any  thing 
left  towards  making  another  meal.  All  the  ladies 
for  whom  she  washed  had  paid  her  up  except 
Mrs.  Lyons,  and  she  owed  her  three  dollars  for 
four  weeks  washing.  Every  week,  for  four  weeks, 
she  had  been  told  there  was  no  change,  but  that 
when  she  came  again  it  should  be  ready  for  her. 


THE   LADY   AT   HOME.  85 

Now  there  was  an  absolute  necessity  that  she 
should  have  it,  but  her  heart  trembled  with  a  feel 
ing  of  painful  uncertainty  as  she  turned  her  steps 
towards  the  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Lyons.  As  she 
passed  up  the  alley  leading  to  the  yard  of  the  house, 
a  lad  handed  in  at  the  front  door  the  beautiful 
camelia  japonica  that  Mr.  Lyons  had  bought  from 
the  florist. 

"Oh,  what  a  beautiful  camel^'"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Lyons,  as  the  flower  was  brought  into  the 
parlor.  "  Where  did  it  come  from  ?" 

"  The  boy  said  that  Mr.  Lyons  sent  it,"  the 
servant  replied,  setting  down  the  pot  containing 
the  flower,  and  leaving  the  room. 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful!"  was  the  repeated  ejacu 
lation  of  Mrs.  Lyons,  as  she  gazed  and  gazed 
upon  the  "flower,  unable  to  satisfy  her  eyes  with 
its  loveliness.  While  thus  absorbed,  the  chamber 
maid  opened  the  door,  and  said,— 

"  Mrs.  Grant  is  down  stairs,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  give  her  the  clothes,  Julia." 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;"  and  Julia  withdrew  to  comply 
with  her  directions. 

In  about  ten  minutes  she  opened  the  door  again 
with— 

8 


86  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

"  The  clothes  are  all  ready,  ma'am,  but  Mrs. 
Grant  says  that  she  wants  to  see  you." 

"  It's  no  difference  about  her  seeing  me,  Julia. 
Tell  her  that  Mr.  Lyons  neglected  to  leave  me  any 
change  this  morning,  but  that  if  she  will  come  up 
day  after  to-morrow,  she  shall  have  it." 

"  Mrs.  Lyons  says,  that  if  you  will  come  up 
day  after  to-morrow  she  will  pay  you,"  said  Julia, 
on  returning  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Lyons,"  the  washerwoman  said,  in 
a  voice  that  trembled,  "  that  I  should  like  to  see 
her  for  a  few  moments." 

This  request  was  conveyed  to  Mrs.  Lyons,  and 
she  gave  directions,  with  no  good  grace,  however, 
for  Mrs.  Grant  to  be  invited  into  the  parlor. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Grant !  How  do  you  do 
this  morning  ?"  she  said,  with  an  effort  to  seem 
indifferent,  as  the  poor  woman  entered. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  feel  very  well,  Mrs.  Lyons. 
I  find  my  health  giving  way  very  fast." 

"  I  am  really  sorry  to  hear  it,  Mrs.  Grant ;  and 
I  am  sorry,  too,  that  I  have  no  change  for  you 
this  morning.  I  hope  you  do  not  want  it  very 
badly." 

There  was  something  kind  and  sympathizing 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  87 

in  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Lyons'  voice  as  she  uttered 
the  last  sentence,  and  it  touched  the  heart  of  the 
poor  woman. 

"  If  I  did  not  want  it  very  badly,  I  would  not 
ask  you  for  it,"  she  said,  the  tears  dimming  her 
eyes,  "  but  indeed,  Mrs.  Lyons,  unless  I  get  some 
money  from  you,  my  little  ones  must  go  supperless 
to  bed  to-night." 

Thus  much  was  she  able  to  articulate,  and  then 
her  feelings  gave  way,  and  the  tears  fell  in  large 
drops  from  her  eyes. 

"  Surely,  Mrs.  Grant,  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that 
with  you?"  Mrs.  Lyons  said,  with  a  troubled 
countenance. 

"  Indeed,  it  is,  ma'am,"  the  poor  woman  replied, 
as  soon  as  she  had  recovered  her  feeling  enough 
to  speak  calmly.  "  It  isn't  with  us  as  it  is  with 
you  rich  folks.  We  have  to  live  from  hand  to 
mouth,  as  they  say,  nearly  all  the  while ;  and 
sometimes  we  are  very  hard  put  to  it  to  get  a  com 
fortable  meal.  This  morning  my  children  had  only 
dry  bread  for  breakfast,  and  I  have  not  even  potatoes 
for  their  dinner." 

"  You  ought  to  have  told  me  before  that  you 
were  so  hard  put  to  it,"  Mrs.  Lyons  said  in  a 
subdued  tone,  her  words  seeming  to  choke  her  as 


88  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

she  uttered  them.  "  If  I  had  known  that  you 
were  so  much  in  want  of  your  money  you  should 
always  have  had  it." 

"  We  poor  folks,  if  we  are  poor,  ma'am,  don't 
like  to  be  always  telling  of  our  poverty.  We  bear 
a  great  deal  before  we  speak." 

"  But  that  is  wrong,  Mrs.  Grant.  You  should 
speak  out  plainly." 

"  And  be  called  complainers,  as  we  most  always 
are,  when  we  ask  for  what  we  have  earned,  and, 
as  a  reason,  tell  our  story  of  need." 

There  was  a  bitterness  in  the  tone  of  Mrs. 
Grant's  voice  that  fell  upon  the  ear  of  Mrs.  Lyons 
with  a  keen  reproof. 

"I  believe  I  have  never  called  you  a  com- 
plainer,"  she  said. 

"  O,  no,  Mrs.  Lyons.  I  didn't  mean  you.  For 
I  have  never  told  you  before  how  greatly  I  was  in 
need  of  a  little  money,  and  would  not  have  told  you 
now,  only  that  I  could  not  bear  to  see  my  children 
want  for  something  to  eat." 

"  But  how  is  it,  Mrs.  Grant,  that  you  are  so 
very  hard  put  to  it  ?  You  seem  industrious." 

"  That  is  not  very  hard  to  explain,"  the  wash 
erwoman  replied.  "  I  wash  for  you  and  Mrs.  Jones, 
at  three-quarters  of  .a  dollar  a  week.  That  is  a 


THE   LADY  AT   HOME.  89 

dollar  and  a  half.  Then  I  do  the  washing  of  two 
other  families,  which  brings  in  two  dollars  more, 
and  a  half  a  dollar  I  get  for  Mrs.  Thompson's 
washing,  which  makes  just  four  dollars.  Besides, 
I  can  sometimes  make  four  or  five  coarse  shirts 
for  the  clothing  stores,  at  ten  cents  a  piece — but  I 
have  to  sit  up  very  late  at  night  when  I  do  it.  And 
this  is  about  all  that  I  can  earn — never  more  than 
about  four  dollars  and  a  half  a  week — and  too  often 
not  over  four  dollars  ;  for  frequently  I  am  so  much 
overcome  by  night,  that  I  have  to  go  to  bed.  Now, 
with  three  children  to  feed  and  clothe,  rent  to  pay, 
and  wood  to  buy,  how  is  it  possible,  Mrs.  Lyons, 
that  I  can  be  otherwise  than  hard  put  to  it  ?  Still, 
if  all  the  people  for  whom  I  work,  were  to  pay  me 
as  soon  as  my  washing  is  carried  home,  I  would 
not  complain.  I  would  get  along  somehow." 

"And  don't  they  always  pay  you,  Mrs.  Grant  ?" 

"  0,  no,  indeed  ma'am ;  at  least  not  all  of  them. 
But  there  is  Mrs.  Merrill  and  Mrs.  Sidney,  who 
always  hand  me  my  money  as  soon  as  I  bring  in 
my  clothes." 

"  Then  who  are  they  that  do  not  pay  you 
promptly  ?" 

"  Why — there  is — Mrs.  Thompson,  I  always 
have  to  go  to  her  three  or  four  times." 
8*- 


90  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

"  And  who  else,  Mrs.  Grant  ?" 

The  washerwoman  looked  confused  at  this 
question,  and  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  floor. 

"  Speak  out  plainly,  Mrs.  Grant.  You  only 
wash  for  four  ladies,  and  if  two  of  them  pay  you, 
promptly,  there  can  be  but  one  beside  Mrs. 
Thompson,  who  does  not  do  the  same  ;  and  that 
one  must  be  myself.  So,  then,  on  Mrs.  Thomp 
son's  shoulders,  and  mine,  must  lie  the.  sin  of 
causing  you  many  of  the  troubles  and  privations 
you  complain  of." 

Mrs.  Grant  did  not  reply.  She  could  not  say 
no,  and  did  not  wish  to  say  yes.  A  pause,  pain 
ful  to  both,  was,  in  consequence,  the  result.  This 
continued,  however,  but  a  few  minutes,  when  Mrs. 
Lyons  said — 

"  I  have  not  a  dollar  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Grant, 
but,  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  go  down  to  my 
husband's  store,  I  will  give  you  a  note  to  him,  and 
he  will  pay  you.  How  much  do  we  owe  you  ?" 

"  Three  dollars,  ma'am." 

"  Very  well.  If  you  can  go  down  to  the  store 
you  shall  have  your  money." 

"  O,  certainly  ma'am,  and  thank  you  kindly." 

In  a  few  minutes,  Mrs.  Lyons  handed  her  wash 
erwoman  a  sealed  note  of  the  following  import : 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  91 

"Dear  Husband, — If  you  can  possibly  do  so,  spare  Mrs. 
Grant,  our  washerwoman,  who  will  hand  you  this,  three 
dollars,  the  amount  that  I  owe  her.  She  wants  it  very 
badly.  Don't  put  her  off,  please " 

The  distance  to  Mr.  Lyons'  store  was  full  half 
a  mile,  in  a  direction  different  from  that  in  which 
Mrs.  Grant  lived.  But  she  thought  not  of  that — 
only  of  her  children  and  the  money  that  was  to 
provide  them  with  food.  First  taking  home  the 
bundle  of  clothes  that  were  to  be  washed,  she  then 
repaired  to  the  merchant's  store. 

"  Is  Mr.  Lyons  in  ?"  she  asked,  as  she  entered. 

"  No,  he  is  gone  out,"  was  the  reply  made  by 
one  of  the  clerks,  in  rather  a  rude  way. 

"  How  soon  will  he  be  in,  sir  ?"  she  asked, 
timidly,  and  hesitatingly. 

"Don't  know," — indifferently — turning  away 
and  whistling  an  air. 

The  poor  woman  paused  for  a  moment,  then 
turned  towards  the  door,  and  moved  a  few  steps 
—paused  again,  and  stood  still  for  more  than  a 
minute. 

"  I  will  wait  for  a  little  while,"  she  at  length 
said,  addressing  the  same  clerk. 

He  did  not  reply,  nor  offer  the  woman  a  chair. 
For  more  than  fifteen  minutes  she  stood  waiting 
Mr.  Lyons'  return,  until  she  became  faint  from 


92  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

standing  still  so  long.  She  also  began  to  feel  very 
uneasy  about  her  little  children,  whom  she  had 
left  alone  much  longer  than  usual. 

"  I  will  call  again,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  At  what 
time  do  you  think  I  would  be  most  certain  to  find 
him  in  ?" 

"  Can't  tell,"  was  the  indifferent  reply. 

Mrs.  Grant  turned  away  from  the  store  of  the 
merchant  with  a  sickening  sensation  about  her 
heart.  In  about  fifteen  minutes  she  reached  her 
own  humble  dwelling. 

"  O  mother,  mother !"  cried  her  little  ones  as 
she  entered,  "  now  we  are  to  have  some  good  bread 
and  milk!" 

The  poor  woman,  on  going  away  to  the  store 
of  Mr.  Lyons,  had  promised,  that  as  soon  as  she 
returned,  she  would  get  them  a  fresh  loaf  of  bread, 
and  some  good  milk. 

For  a  few  minutes  she  did  not  know  what  an 
swer  to  make.  She  had  promised  them,  and  her 
heart  yearned  to  fulfil  that  promise,  to  give  them 
bread. 

"  Wait  a  little,"  she  said,  going  to  the  closet, 
and  taking  down  an  old  pitcher.  With  this  she 
went  to  a  shop  near  by,  and  said,  as  she  entered— 

"  Let  me  have  a  quart  of  milk  and  a  loaf  of 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  93 

bread,  Mr.  Hardy.  I  will  pay  you  for  them  this 
afternoon." 

"  But  you  know  that  you  owe  me  over  a  dol 
lar  now,  and  that  you  promised  to  give  it  to  me 
several  days  ago." 

"  I  know  it,  Mr.  Hardy,  and  the  money  is 
owed  to  me,  and  is  promised  to  me  to-day.  I 
would  not  ask  you  to  let  me  have  any  more  now, 
but  my  children  are  hungry,  and  I  have  nothing 
in  the  house  to  eat." 

The  shop-keeper  believed  in  Mrs.  Grant's 
willingness  to  pay.  He  only  feared  her  inability. 

"  I  will  trust  you  for  this,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause,  "  but  cannot  let  you  have  any  more  until 
you  pay  what  is  due  me." 

"  Can't  you  add  a  little  corn  meal,  and  some 
potatoes  ?  I  don't  think  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
get  my  money  before  the  afternoon,  and  I  shall 
have  nothing  for  the.  children's  dinners." 

Another  moment  or  two  of  hesitation  passed, 
and  the  shop-keeper  said— 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  Mrs.  Grant.  But  I  shall 
expect  the  whole  this  afternoon." 

"  You  shall  certainly  have  it,  Mr.  Hardy,"  was 
the  reply. 

A  five-penny-bit's  worth  of  corn  meal,  and  a 


94  THE   LADY   AT  HOME. 

quarter  of  a  peck  of  potatoes,  were  taken  home 
with  her  bread  and  milk — the  latter  of  the  two 
first  named  articles,  to  serve  for  dinner,  and  the 
former  for  supper,  should  any  accident  prevent  her 
seeing  Mr.  Lyons.  Thus  provided,  she  resolved  to 
wait  until  towards  evening  before  going  again  to 
his  store.  First  giving  to  each  of  her  children,  the 
eldest  ten,  and  the  youngest  five  years  of  age,  a 
bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  and  looking  on  them  for 
a  moment  or  two  as  they  eagerly  devoured  their 
wholesome  repast,  with  a  glow  of  pleasure  warm 
ing  over  her  heart,  she  commenced  the  labors  of 
the  day  at  the  late  hour  of  nearly  eleven. 

"  0  what  a  beautiful  Camelia  you  sent  me !" 
Mrs.  Lyons  said,  as  her  husband  came  home  to 
dinner. 

"  Is  it  not  a  lovely  one  ?"  he  replied. 

"  Indeed  it  is  !     What  did  you  pay  for  it  ?" 

"  Three  dollars.  But  it  is  one  of  such  rare 
beauty,  that  I  did  not  think  a  moment  of  the  trifle 
asked  for  it." 

"  It  is  really  a  magnificent  flower." 

"  Madam  De  Goni  has  her  concert  to-night," — 
Mr.  Lyons  said,  after  a  few  moments. 

"  True.     I  had  forgotten  that." 

"  Here  are  a  couple  of  tickets,  I  could  not  fore- 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  95 

go  the  temptation,  although  they  were  a  dollar  a 
piece." 

"  O,  I  am  glad  you  bought  them.  I  wish  to  go 
very  much.  But  I  must  have  five  or  six  dollars 
to  get  a  few  little  things  that  I  must  have,  if  I  am 
to  go  out  to-night." 

"  Certainly,"  Mr.  Lyons  said,  and  taking  out  his 
pocket  book,  handed  her  the  amount  she  wished. 

The  dinner  passed  without  poor  Mrs.  Grant 
being  once  thought  of.  Her  case  did  occur  to 
Mrs.  Lyons,  as  she  was  going  out  for  the  purpose 
of  making  the  trifling  purchases  that  she  wanted, 
but  it  was  dismissed  at  once,  under  the  idea  that 
her  husband  had,  of  course,  honored  her  little 
draft. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock  when  Mrs.  Grant  sat 
down  with  her  children  to  partake  of  their  meal  of 
roasted  potatoes  and  salt — the  same  hour  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Lyons  seated  themselves  at  their  well 
filled  table,  all  unregardful  of  the  poor  widow 
from  whom  they  had  so  thoughtlessly  withheld 
the  meagre  pittance  she  had  earned  so  hardly. 
After  their  frugal  repast  was  over,  Mrs.  Grant 
again  resumed  her  work,  and  continued  it  until 
four  o'clock,  when  she  put  on  her  bonnet,  and, 
again,  repaired  to  Mr.  Lyons'  store. 


96          THE  LADY  AT  HOME. 

"  Is  Mr.  Lyons  in  now  ?"  she  asked  of  the 
same  individual  to  whom  she  had  addressed  her 
self  in  the  morning. 

"  No" — was  the  brief  answer. 

"  Will  he  be  in  soon  ?"  the  woman  ventured  to 
ask,  although  half  deterred  by  the  young  man's 
repulsive  manner. 

"  I  expect  not" — was  the  cool  reply. 

Mrs.  Grant  turned  away  again,  with  a  sadder 
heart  than  before,  and  directed  her  course  home 
ward. 

Three  minutes  after  she  had  left,  Mr.  Lyons 
returned  to  his  store. 

"  There's  been  an  old  woman  here  twice  to 
day,  asking  for  you" — said  the  young  man,  who 
had  answered  to  her  inquiry. 

"  Well,  what  did  she  want  ?" 

"  Humph  !  I'd  no — Charity  I  should  think, 
from  her  looks." 

"  Oh "  and  Mr.  Lyons  tossed  his  head 

with  an  air  of  contempt  and  impatience,  as  he 
turned  away  from  his  clerk. 

"  I  shall  be  so  delighted  to-night !"  Mrs.  Lyons 
said,  as  they  were  taking  an  early  tea,  to  be  ready 
to  go  in  time  to  the  concert. 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  97 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  Her  performance  on 
the  guitar  is  said  to  be  exquisite. ' 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  Knoop  very  much,"  Mrs. 
L.  remarked. 

"  So  should  I.  I  am  told  that  the  violoncello 
never  gave  such  tones  under  any  hand  as  it  gives 
under  his." 

44  We  will  go  next  week — will  we  not?" 

"  Yes.  For  I  should  like  to  hear  him  very 
much." 

Just  as  they  were  rising  from  the  table  Mrs. 
Lyons  said — 

"  Oh  !  did  you  pay  Mrs.  Grant  those  three 
dollars  to-day?" 

«  No— -What  Mrs.  Grant  ?  What  three  dol 
lars  ?" 

"  Why  Mrs.  Grant  our  washerwoman.  I  gave 
her  a  note  to  you  this  morning,  asking  you  to  pay 
her  the  trifle  we  owe  her." 

"  If  you  did,  she  never  came  for  it." 

"  That  is  strange.  She  told  me  that  she  was 
really  suffering — that  she  had  not  a  single  loaf 
of  bread  in  the  house,  nor  any  money  to  buy  food 
for  her  children.  She  would  not  have  told  me 
this,  only,  as  you  could  not  spare  me  the  money 
for  her  this  morning,  I  tried  to  put  her  off.  Poor 
9 


98  THE   LADY   AT    HOME. 

creature !  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  been  much 
to  blame  in  not  always  paying  her  for  her  wash 
ing  as  soon  as  it  was  done.  I  forgot  that  her 
resources  were  but  limited,  and  that  the  least 
obstruction  of  them,  must  produce  inconvenience 
if  not  absolute  want.  The  tale  she  told  me  this 
morning,  made  my  heart  ache,  and  my  cheeks 
burn  with  shame." 

"  Without  food  for  her  children,  did  you  say, 
Harriet  ?" 

"Yes.  And  her  tone  and  manners  told  but 
too  truly,  that  she  was  sadly  in  earnest." 

"  Strange,  then,  that  she  did  not  call." 

"  It  is  strange,  certainly." 

"  I  .remember  now,"  Mr.  Lyons  said,  after 
thinking  for  a  moment  or  two,  "  that  they  told  me 
this  afternoon,  about  an  old  woman  having  been 
in  twice  to  ask  for  me." 

"  That  must  have  been  her.  Poor  creature !" — 
Then  after  a  pause — 

"  I  cannot  go  to  the  concert  to-night,  husband, 
until  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Grant.  Just  think  of  her 
and  her  three  little  children,  without  food,  and  all 
because  of  our  neglect,  who  have  plenty,  and  to 
spare.  It  makes  me  feel  sick  at  heart.  The  price 
of  that  japonica  would  have  relieved  all  her  wants— 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  99 

and  you  bought  it  with  the  very  money  that  you 
could  not  spare  for  the  washerwoman  who  had 
earned  it,  and  only  asked  for  her  own." 

Mr.  Lyons  did  not  reply  for  some  time,  during 
which  he  stood  in  deep  thought.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  confirmed  selfishness  ;  though  thoughtless 
of  others,  and  mainly  disposed  to  have  but  small 
consideration  for  them.  Now,  a  sense  of  the  in 
justice  of  his  conduct,  became  distinct  in  his  mind, 
and  he  felt,  painfully,  that  he  had  been  guilty  of 
wrong. 

"  Put  up  a  basket  of  provisions,  Harriet,"  he 
said,  suddenly  rousing  himself  from  his  unpleasant 
reverie,  and  let  James  bring  it  along.  I  will  not 
go  to  the  concert,  either,  until  I  have  seen  Mrs. 
Grant  with  you,  and  rendered  her  that  justice 
which  is  her  due.  This  thing  has  taught  me  a 
lesson  that  I  shall  never  forget." 

Bread  and  butter,  cold  meat,  cheese,  tea,  and 
sugar,  were  placed  in  a  basket,  and  as  soon  as 
Mrs.  Lyons  was  dressed  for  the  concert,  James 
was  directed  to  proceed  with  the  basket  to  the 
dwelling  of  Mrs.  Grant,  while  they  followed  in 
close  company.  When  they  arrived  at  her  abode, 
they  saw,  through  the  window,  that  the  little  family 
were  about  sitting  down  to  supper ;  and  paused 


100  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

long  enough  to  see  the  mother  bow  her  head,  for 
a  few  moments,  and  ask,  doubtless,  a  blessing  on 
the  food  that  was  spread  before  herself  and  chil 
dren.  Then  they  opened  the  door,  without  knock 
ing*  and  passed  into  the  widow's  humble  dwelling. 
A  glance  sufficed  to  show  that  the  supper  con 
sisted  of  the  preparation  of  corn  meal,  called,  in 
the  middle  and  southern  states,  "mush."  Be 
sides  this,  there  was  nothing  on  the  table,  to  be 
eaten — no  milk,  nor  molasses,  nor  butter  to  im 
part  a  relish  to  their  coarse  fare — nor  tea,  an  article 
that  use  has  rendered  no  necessary  to  a  woman,  es 
pecially  when  fatigued  from  long  and  incessant  toil. 

Mrs.  Grant  rose  in  surprise  at  the  unexpected 
appearance  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lyons. 

'*  I  fear  we  have  wronged  you  very  much, 
ma'am,"  Mr.  Lyons  said.  "  And  we  have  come 
to  make  amends,  if  that  can  possibly  be  done,  for 
the  privations  and  troubles  that  we  have  been  the 
cause  of  your  suffering.  Here  is  the  money  you 
ought  to  have  had  this  morning,"  (handing  her  three 
dollars) — "  in  fact  a  week  ago.  And  here  are  some 
provisions  for  you,  to  save  you  the  trouble  of  having 
to  go  out  to-night" — motioning  the  servant  to  come 
forward  with  the  basket.  "  And  now,  Mrs.  Grant, 
if  you  and  your  little  ones  will  forgive  us,  we  will 
try  and  be  more  regardful  of  you,  hereafter." 


THE    IA1»Y.  AT   HOME.  101 

"  May  Heav.en,  blesc  you  for  you'-  lijnd  ccn 
sideration!"  the  widcw^saidj  clbsj/ing  Her  handa 
fervently,  and  looking  upwards. 

"  And  may  Heaven  forgive  us  for  the  wrong  we 
have  done !"  Mr.  Lyons  replied. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it.  All  is  now  past,  and  all 
will  be  well  again,"  the  widow  said,  as  the  tears 
started  from  her  eyes,  and  stole  down  her  care 
worn  cheek. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lyons  turned  away  from 
the  poor  woman's  humble  abode,  they  turned  away 
with  feelings  new  to  their  hearts — feelings  of  in 
tense  sympathy  for  one,  and  in  one,  all,  in  that 
trying  condition  of  life  where  the  absolute  wants  of 
nature  are  meagerly  supplied,  by  incessant  toil — 
toil  so  severe  as  often  to  wear  out  gradually  the 
constitution,  and  drag  down  its  subjects  to  prema 
ture  graves.  And  they  departed  with  the  widow's 
blessing  upon  their  heads.  Never  afterwards  did 
they  neglect  to  pay  on  the  very  day  it  was  done, 
to  the  servant,  or  seamstress,  or  washerwoman, 
the  small  sum  of  their  earnings.  May  others,  who 
read  this,  and  have  lapsed  into  the  same  thoughtless 
habit,  take  a  lesson  from  their  lesson,  and  do  so 
no  more.  Every  principle  of  justice  and  humanity 
claims  it  of  them. 

9* 


102  THJE    I«AVY   AT   HOME. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


MARY  McLEAN  continued  to  sew  for  me  for  six 
weeks,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  went  to  another 
place ;  one  of  my  friends  having,  on  my  recom 
mendation,  engaged  her  to  do  a  few  weeks'  work. 
It  was  some  months  before  I  saw  her  again,  though 
I  thought  of  her  many  times.  She  had  interested 
me  very  much.  I  had  never  met  with  one  in  her 
walk  of  life  who  possessed  so  many  qualities  to  be 
admired — even  loved.  But  how  sadly  had  she 
been  wronged !  Never,  after  hearing  her  artless 

story,  could  I  feel  towards  Mrs.  L as  once  I 

felt.  The  wrong  done  to  the  poor  girl  who  had 
no  one  else  to  whom  she  could  look  up,  was  too 
deep. 

During  the  next  Fall,  she  sewed  for  me  again. 
A  few  months  had  made  serious  inroads  upon  her 
health.  Her  face  was  thinner  and  paler,  and  her 
eyes  brighter.  She  had,  too,  a  very  unfavourable 
stoop  in  her  shoulders,  compressing  her  chest,  and 
preventing  full  and  healthy  respiration.  A  slight, 


THE   LADY  AT  HOME.  103 

dry  cough,  likewise,  was  perceptible,  as  if  from 
tickling  low  down  in  the  windpipe.  At  her  work, 
I  noticed  that  she  did  not  sit  easily,  but  every  little 
while  changed  her  position,  as  if  from  weariness 
or  pain.  On  asking  the  reason  of  this,  she  said 
that  she  was  much  troubled  with  a  pain  in  her  side  ; 
but  she  hoped  to  get  rid  of  it  soon.  She  had  been 
to  the  doctor's,  and  he  had  given  her  some  medi 
cine  for  it.  Her  appetite  was  very  poor.  Mr. 
Elm  wood  noticed  the  change  in  her,  and  spoke  of 
it  to  me  with  concern.  Her  modest  demeanor  had 
always  pleased  him. 

"  That  girl  won't  live  long,"  he  said,  "  if  she 
continues  to  sit  and  sew.  She  wants  fresh  air, 
and  more  exercise.  You  must  insist  upon  her 
walking  out  every  day,  for  at  least  an  hour.  She 
ought  to  go  morning  and  evening." 

My  husband  was  more  thoughtful  than  I  had 
been.  I  went  to  Mary  at  once,  and  told  her  that 
I  wanted  her  to  put  up  her  work  and  go  out  and 
walk  for  half  an  hour.  She  demurred  at  first ;  but, 
afterwards,  thankfully  accepted  the  privilege. 
Whenever,  after  this,  I  perceived  her  beginning  to 
change  her  position  frequently,  I  would  insist  upon 
her  laying  aside  her  work,  and  either  walking  out, 
or  spending  half  an  hour  sporting  with  the  children. 


104  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

She  was  fond  of  them,  and  they  loved  her.  A 
glass  of  wine,  and  a  cracker  or  two,  after  this 
exercise,  particularly  when  taken  towards  the 
middle  of  the  day,  on  an  empty  stomach,  refreshed 
her  very  much.  Mary  sewed  for  me  at  this  time 
for  three  weeks.  When  she  went  away,  she 
looked  like  another  person.  Her  step  was  lighter, 
her  skin  clearer  and  warmer,  and  her  whole  air 
much  more  cheerful.  The  pain  in  her  side  still 
continued,  while  sitting  over  her  work,  but  it  was  not 
so  severe.  The  reflection  that  my  kind  considera 
tion,  prompted,  indeed,  by  my  husband,  who  is 
ever  thoughtful  of  others,  had  been  of  so  much 
benefit  to  her,  was  a  sweet  reward. 

In  the  spring  I  sent  for  Mary  again,  but  was 
pained  to  receive  word  that  she  was  too  sick  to  go 
any  where.  I  chid  myself  for  not  having  taken 
a  more  active  interest  in  her  while  out  of  my  house 
than  I  had  done,  and  at  once  dressed  myself  and 
went  to  see  her.  I  found  her  in  a  small,  close 
room,  with  few  tilings  comfortable  around  her,  and 
no  one  to  attend  properly  to  her  wants.  She  was 
much  emaciated,  and  very  feeble.  A  deep,  hollow, 
jarring  cough,  told  too  eloquently,  how  fatally  she 
was  diseased.  When  I  took  her  hand,  and  in 
quired  in  a  kind,  concerned  voice,  how  she  did,  the 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  105 

tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  she  could  not,  at  first, 
compose  herself  to  speak. 

I  found  that  it  was  four  weeks  since  she  had 
been  out  of  the  house,  and  the  most  of  that  time 
she  had  been  confined  to  her  bed.  That  the  doctor 
had  been  to  see  her  several  times,  and  had  given 
her  medicine ;  but  that  nothing  seemed  to  do  her 
any  good.  She  appeared  to  be  in  very  low  spirits. 
I  inquired  as  to  her  attendance,  and  found  that  it 
was  sometimes  nearly  a  whole  day  that  no  one 
came  into  the  room  to  make  any  inquiry  of  her, 
or  to  see  whether  she  wanted  any  thing.  She  paid 
a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  week  for  boarding.  Before 
going  away,  I  saw  the  woman  who  kept  the  house, 
and  explained  to  her  Mary's  really  alarming  condi 
tion,  and  the  great  need  there  was  of  her  being  more 
carefully  attended.  She  seemed,  however,  quite 
indifferent ;  said  that  she  would  rather  have  two 
well  boarders  than  one  sick  one  ;  and  that  she  didn't 
engage  to  wait  on  people  in  their  rooms  when  she 
took  them  to  board.  There  was  a  place  provided 
for  such  as  were  sick,  and  too  poor  to  hire  a  nurse 
— meaning  the  Alms  House.  I  was  shocked  at 
this  exhibition  of  inhumanity.  Nearly  four  weeks 
had  Mary'been  confined  to  her  bed,  with  no  attend 
ance  but  that  unwillingly  rendered  by  this  wqman. 


106  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

It  was  little  wonder  then,  that,  with  a  mind  and 
body  like  hers,  that  sympathized  so  acutely,  no 
healthy  reaction  took  place  in  her  system. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  say  that  I  would  send 
a  carriage  for  her,  and  have  her  well  taken  care  of 
in  my  own  house  until  she  recovered.  But  a 
second  thought  in  regard  to  the  trouble  it  might  be, 
kept  me  silent.  "  She  may  be  sick  a  long  time — 
may  never  get  well  in  fact,"  I  said  to  myself.  As 
I  was  going  away,  with  the  promise  to  come  again 
in  a  day  or  two,  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  me  with 
a  sad,  appealing  look — so  I  felt  the  meaning  of 
their  expression.  It  seemed  to  rebuke  my  selfish 
thoughts  in  regard  to  trouble.  But  I  retired  through 
the  door  of  her  chamber,  closed  it  after  me,  and 
left  her  alone. 

As  I  walked  slowly  homeward,  I  debated  ac 
tively  the  question  whether  I  should  take  the  poor 
girl  into  my  house,  and  have  her  carefully  nursed. 
Many  considerations  opposed — mostly  of  a  kind 
that  regarded  my  own  ease.  "And  why?"  I 
asked  myself,  in  this  debate,  "  should  I  take  Mary 
McLean  more  than  another  into  my  house  ?  If  I 
begin  this  thing  with  her,  I  shall  be  under  an  equal 
obligation  to  take  any  other  poor  sick  girl  into  my 
family,  who  would,  otherwise,  have  to  go  to  the 


THE   LADY   AT   HOME.  107 

Alms  House.  Mary  has  no  claims  upon  me.  I 
have  fully  paid  her  for  all  the  services  she  has 
rendered  me." 

Thus  I  opposed  the  spontaneous  impulse  I  had 
felt,  to  take  her  into  my  house,  and  minister,  even 
with  my  own  hand,  to  her  wants.  When  I  re 
turned  home,  I  mentioned  to  my  husband  the  con 
dition  in  which  I  had  found  Mary,  and  pictured  to 
him,  quite  vividly,  the  poor  girl's  desponding  state 
of  mind.  He  was  a  good  deal  touched  at  this. 
After  sitting  thoughtful  for  a  little  while,  he  said — 

"  We  have  plenty  of  room,  and  plenty  of  do 
mestics — suppose  we  have  her  brought  here,  and 
properly  nursed  ?  It  will  be  an  act  of  humanity — 
and,  as  we  can  do  it, it  becomes,  I  think,  our  duty." 

"  But  suppose  she  were  to  die  ?"  I  suggested. 

"  Do  you  think  her  case  so  bad  as  that  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  But  she  has  a  dreadful  cough, 
with  heavy  night  sweats,  and  is  greatly  emaciated. 
She  may  recover,  and  she  may  not.  Or,  she  may 
linger  on  for  many  months,  even  for  a  year." 

Mr.  Elm  wood  was  silent  and  thoughtful  again. 

**  All  these  are  reasons,"  he  then  said,  "  why 
she  ought  not  to  be  left  where  she  is — why  she 
ought  to  be  well  and  kindly  attended.  I  should 


108  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

feel  very  bad  to  have  her  die  where  she  is,  of 
neglect ;  not  only  bad  for  her,  but  bad  for  myself. 
I  could  never  feel  afterwards  that  I  had  done  my 
duty." 

"  You  are  willing,  then,  to  have  her  brought  into 
the  house  ?" 

"  I  am,"  was  his  decided  reply.  "  That  much 
we  clearly  owe  to  humanity." 

After  dinner  a  carriage  was  sent  for,  and,  ac 
companied  by  my  chamber  maid,  I  went  in  it  to 
the  humble  abode  of  my  seamstress.  I  cannot  but 
confess  to  a  few  struggles  with  pride  before  this 
was  done.  "  Suppose,"  was  the  thought  that  in 
truded  itself,  "you  were  to  be  seen  by  Mrs. 

P or  Mrs.  L going  into  that  little  house, 

and  assisting  a  mere  sewing  girl  into  a  carriage ; 
what  would  she  think  ?  You  had  better  let  the 
chambermaid  go  alone.  She  can  arrange  it  all 
just  as  well  as  you  can.  You  are  doing  enough 
in  removing  her  into  your  house,  without  exposing 
yourself  in  doing  the  act."  But  my  better  feelings 
soon  silenced  these  whisperings. 

If  the  eye  of  Mary  brightened  when  she  saw 
me  again,  could  I  wonder  at  the  glad  expression 
of  her  whole  countenance  when  I  told  her  that  I 
was  going  to  remove  her  to  my  own  house,  and 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME.  109 

have  her  well  taken  care  of  until  her  recovery. 
She  did  not  attempt  to  speak  her  gratitude  ;  but  it 
beamed  from  every  lineament  of  her  pale  face. 

After  her  removal,  our  family  physician  was 
called  in,  and  the  poor  girl  placed  in  his  charge. 
He  gave  us  but  little  encouragement  in  regard  to 
her — said  her  lungs  were  deeply  affected,  and  that 
she  had  all  the  symptoms  of  one  in  a  hasty  de 
cline.  He  in  subsequent  visits  confirmed  this 
opinion,  which  was  corroborated  to  our  minds  by 
the  rapid  sinking,  too  apparent,  day  after  day,  of 
the  patient  sufferer.  In  about  three  weeks  after 
she  came  under  our  care,  her  cheeks  began  to  be 
lit  up  with  the  deceitful  hectic,  that  gave  to  her 
countenance  a  peculiar  beauty.  We  all  noticed 
this.  At  first  the  change  partially  deceived  us  ; 
but  the  physician  knew  the  fatal  sign  too  well. 
When  it  finally  became  certain  that  life  was  fast 
ebbing  away,  and  that  in  a  little  while  she  must 
pass  from  the  visible  to  the  invisible  world,  I  felt 
it  to  be  my  solemn  duty  to  warn  her  of  the  ap 
proaching  change.  This  was  a  painful  trial. 
Death  is  to  every  one  so  appalling — even  to  him 
of  threescore  years — how  much  more  so  to  the 
young  maiden  just  entering,  as  it  were,  upon  life  ? 
I  knew  not  what  effect  it  would  have  upon  Mary, 
10 


110  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

and  I  dreaded  to  break  to  her  the  alarming  in 
telligence. 

For  several  days  I  pondered  over  this  duty, 
shrinking  from  it  with  an  instinctive  reluctance. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  not  more  than  half  an 
hour  before  sunset,  when  I  went  up  to  her  room, 
and,  seating  myself  by  her  bedside,  took  her  hand 
in  mine,  and  asked  how  she  felt. 

"  Very  weak,"  was  her  reply. 

"  You  grow  weaker  every  day,  I  think,  Mary," 
I  ventured  to  say. 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  I  am  aware  of  that,"  she  re 
turned  with  composure. 

"  The  doctor" — my  voice  trembled  in  spite  of 
ah1  my  efforts  to  appear  calm — "  begins  to  have 
some  fears  for  the  result  of  your  present  illness." 

"  But  I  have  none." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  sweet  smile  that  lit  up 
her  countenance  as  she  said  this. 

"  Then  you  expect  to  get  well  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  ma'am  !  I  shall  never  be  well  again  in 
this  world.  Nor  do  I  wish  to  be." 

"  Do  you  then  feel  willing  to  die,  Mary  ?"  I 
asked,  in  real  surprise. 

"  Far  more  willing  than  to  remain  here.  Why 
should  I  wish  to  live  ?  Alone,  and  in  poor  health, 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME.  Ill 

what  is  there  in  this  world  that  is  attractive  to 
me?" 

"  But  are  you  not  afraid  to  die.,  Mary  ?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  surprise 
upon  her  face. 

"  Why  should  I  fear  to  die  ?  I  confess  that  I 
am  afraid  to  live.  That  the  thought  of  getting  up 
from  this  bed,  and  going  out  again  into  the  world, 
friendless  and  companionless,  is  one  from  which 
I  shrink.  But  to  lay  aside  this  poor  body  of  earth, 
and  rise  into  a  new  and  glorious  body,  cannot  be 
any  thing  but  joyful." 

|f*  You  have  a  hope  then  of  a  blessed  immortality 
beyond  the  grave  ?" 

"  0  yes.  A  deeply  abiding  and  sustaining  hope. 
My  anchor  is  cast  within  the  veil." 

A  pause  ensued,  when  she  resumed.  "  There 
is  a  favor,  Mrs.  Elm  wood,  that  I  wish  to  ask  of 
you,  which  is,  that  you  would  send  for  Mrs. 
L — • — .  I  want  to  see  her.  I  have  had  many 
hard  thoughts  of  her,  and  she  of  me.  All  on  my 
part  I  wish  to  lay  aside.  They  are  not  such 
thoughts  as  I  wish  to  take  with  me  into  the  next 
world.  They  are  of  the  earth,  earthy,  and  let 
them  remain  here." 

In  accordance  with  this  wish,  I  sent,  on  the 


112  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

next  day,  for  Mrs.  L .  She  had  known 

nothing  of  Mary's  illness,  and  when  I  told  her 
that  she  had  not  long  to  remain  here,  she  was 
painfully  shocked.  I  did  not  go  with  her  into 
Mary's  room.  I  thought  it  much  the  best  that 

their  first  interview  should  be  alone.  Mrs.  L 

remained  in  the  I  oom  with  her  for  nearly  an  hour. 
When  she  came  out  her  eyes  were  red  with  weep 
ing.  She  said  nothing  to  me  of  the  nature  of  her 
intercourse  with  Mary ;  but  after  expressing  much 
interest  in  her,  and  thanking  me  warmly  for  my 
kindness  toward  her,  she  went  away,  promising 
to  come  again  in  the  morning.  I  then  wenfcpp 
into  Mary's  room.  How  calm,  and  sweet,  and 
lovely  was  the  expression  of  her  countenance  ! 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Elmwood !"  she  said,  grasping  my 
hand  with  eagerness,  "  I  am  so  happy  !  It  is  all 
over,  and  we  are  reconciled.  We  have  forgiven 
each  other  all  that  is  past.  I  can  now  go  in  peace." 

From  that  time  forth,  her  face  wore  a  serener 

aspect.  Mrs.  L came  regularly  to  see  her, 

and  they  were  often  alone  together  for  a  long  time. 

"  I  fear,"  Mrs.  L said  to  me  one  day  after 

leaving  the  bedside  of  the  sick  girl,  "  that  I  have 
not  been  just  to-Mary  ;  and  this  has  arisen  in  some 
degree  from  the  fact  that  I  did  not  know  her.  She 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  113 

has  a  mind  and  heart  above  what  we  ordinarily 
find  in  girls  of  her  class,  and  I  did  not  perceive  it, 
as  I  should  have  perceived  it.  I  have  been  deeply 
to  blame,  and  the  thought  pains  and  humbles  me. 
How  like  an  affectionate  child  would  she  have 
loved  me  and  clung  to  me,  had  I  treated  her  as  if 
she  had  been  a  child !  I  see  this  now,  when,  alas  ! 
it  is  too  late.  I  would  take  her  back,  and  into 
my  bosom  now,  if  I  could,  for  she  is  worthy  of  a 
place  there  ;  but  this  is  now  denied  me.  To  one 
comparatively  a  stranger  to  her,  but  who  had  the 
discrimination  to  perceive  her  real  character,  has 
be|tt  granted  the  privilege  of  smoothing  the  pillow 
that  rests  her  dying  head.  This  is  a  lesson,  Mrs. 
Elm  wood,  that  I  shall  never  forget — for  it  has  been 
too  painfully  impressed  upon  my  mind.  I  see  too 
clearly  where  I  have  been  wrong,  and  the  sad 
consequences  of  that  wrong." 

This  gave  me  both  pain  and  pleasure.  Pain  for 
the  acute  suffering  of  mind  that  such  an  awaken 
ing  to  a  sense  of  neglected  duties  must  occasion — 
pleasure,  that  the  awakening,  while  it  threw  light 
upon  the  heart  of  the  poor  girl,  would  make  Mrs. 
L more  thoughtful  in  future. 

About  a  month  after  this  Mary  died.  Her 

head  rested  upon  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  L ,  and 

10* 


114  THE    LADY   AT  HOME. 

her  hand  in  mine.  Thus  she  passed  away  into  a 
peaceful  sleep,  whose  waking  was  in  the  world  of 
spirits.  We  laid  her  beside  her  sister,  and  shed 

tears  over  her  humble  grave.     Both  Mrs.  L 

and  myself  turned  from  the  lowly  spot,  after  the 
funeral  rites  had  been  said,  and  went  back  to  our 
homes  with  better  and  more  humane  thoughts, 
and,  I  hope,  better  and  more  humane  feelings  than 
we  had  before  known.  But  her  reflections  must 
have  been,  and  still  must  be,  whenever  she  thinks 
of  Mary,  acutely  painful.  Such  gross  neglect  of 
duty,  and  such  gross  wrong  to  an  orphan  child, 
cannot  rest  easily  upon  the  conscience.  M^iy 
poor  children  are  treated  far  worse  than  Mary 
M'Lean — for  they  have  added  to  all  disregard  for 
them  as  moral  and  intelligent  beings,  positive 
physical  abuse,  and  that  of  the  most  revolting 
kind.  But  that  does  not  remove  a  single  stain  of 

the  guilt  appertaining  to  Mrs.  L .     It  is  no 

light  responsibility  which  Divine  Providence  lays 
upon  us,  when  he  commits  to  our  care  an  immor 
tal  being,  whose  whole  life  here  and  hereafter,  and 
whose  whole  action  upon  society  for  good  or  evil, 
elevation  or  depression,  will  be  affected  by  the  way 
in  which  we  discharge  our  duty.  It  matters  not 
whether  that  immortal  being  be  our  own  child,  or 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  115 

the  child  of  another — all  are  alike  precious  in  the 
eyes  of  Him  who  is  the  Father  of  all.  Careful 
indeed  should  we  ever  be,  not  to  let  our  selfishness, 
our  mere  regard  for  our  own  temporal  good,  or 
physical  ease,  bind  down  in  uncongenial  servitude 
a  mind  formed  by  nature  to  rise  into  a  higher 
plane  of  activity,  and  into  the  performance  of  higher 
uses  in  society  than  those  to  which  we  have  con 
signed  it.  If  the  vine  struggles  to  lift  itself  up 
ward,  let  us  not  bend  it  down,  and  cause  it  to 
creep  in  unhealthy  waste  of  all  its  powers  upon 
the  ground ;  but  rather  assist  it  to  rise  into  purer 
regions,  and  there  unfold  itself,  and  produce  its 
delicious  clusters — the  end  of  its  existence. 

I  have  lingered  for  a  much  longer  time  over  the 
story  of  Mary  M'Lean  than  I  had  intended.  It 
has  not  been  found,  however,  I  trust,  either  un 
interesting  or  uninstructive  to  my  readers.  On 
my  own  mind,  all  the  circumstances  connected 
with  it  had  the  effect  to  make  me  look  upon  those 
in  stations  below  ifte  with  a  more  considerate  eye. 
We  are  too  apt  to  think  disparagingly  of  all  those 
who  are  not  our  equals  in  external  circumstances, 
and  especially  upon  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  serve 
us.  And  we  are  much  inclined  to  fall,  at  the 
same  time,  into  the  error  of  supposing  that  this 


116  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

class  of  persons  never  think  or  feel — never  aspire, 
nobly  to  rise  above  their  stations,  and  enter  the 
contest  for  excellence.  And  even  when  we  do 
perceive  this  in  spite  of  our  wilful  blindness,  how 
naturally  inclined  are  we  to  be  jealous  of  imagined 
encroachments  upon  our  sphere  of  life,  and  to  be 
very  philosophically  considerate  of  those  below  us, 
in  our  attempts  to  keep  them  there ;  complacently 
arguing  that  they  are  in  their  true  place,  and  to 
permit  them  to  rise  above  it  would  be  to  do  them 
the  greatest  possible  injury.  The  fallacy  of  this, 
I  need  not  attempt  to  show.  Let  the  reader  who 

is  still   unconvinced,  contrast  Mrs.   L and 

Mary  M'Lean,  and  determine  in  her  own  mind 
which  was  most  fitted  naturally  to  fill  a  station  of 
influence  and  trust  in  society.  I  think  the  decision 
will  not  be  found  hard  to  make. 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  117 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  OLD  COAL  MAN MOSES  THE  CARPET  SHAKER. 

A  FEW  cold  days  early  in  the  fall  made  fires 
necessary,  and  as  we  had  not  laid  in  our  winter's 
supply  of  fuel,  it  became  necessary  to  get  a  single 
ton  of  coal. 

As  soon  as  the  load  was  thrown  down  before 
the  door,  a  gray-headed  old  man,  lame  in  one  leg, 
presented  himself,  and  asked  if  he  might  put  the 
coal  away  in  the  cellar.  His  face  was  all  be 
grimed,  and  his  clothes  black  with  coal  dust.  In 
one  hand  he  held  a  shovel,  and  in  the  other  a 
basket. 

"  How  much  do  you  charge  ?"  I  asked. 

"A  quarter  dollar,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  in  a  re 
spectful  tone,  touching  his  hat  as  he  spoke. 

"Very  well,"  I  replied,  "you  may  put  it 
away."  And  I  returned  to  my  room,  which 
looked  out  upon  the  street.  On  glancing  out,  as 
I  seated  myself  by  the  window,  I  saw  that  the  old 
man  had  a  fellow-laborer,  who  looked  as  old,  as 
poor,  and  as  dirty  as  himself.  The  sight  of  these 


118  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

two  old  men,  toiling  for  their  shilling  a-piece,  with 
their  heavy  baskets  of  coal,  touched  my  feelings. 
I  thought  of  my  own  grey-headed  father,  whom  I 
loved  with  filial  tenderness,  and  my  imagination 
pictured  him  in  the  condition  of  the  two  men  at 
work  beneath  my  window.  My  heart  turned 
from  the  picture  with  a  shudder  ;  but  I  could  not 
help  looking  down  at  the  men,  and  the  sight  of 
them  kept  my  thoughts  busy. 

"  What  a  poor  pittance  it  is  that  these  men  toil 
for,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  How  eagerly  they  work, 
as  if  the  reward  of  their  labor  was  to  be  a  hun 
dred  dollars,  instead  of  the  eighth  of  a  single  dollar 
a-piece.  Ought  I  not,"  I  asked,  as  my  feelings 
became  more  and  more  interested,  "  to  pay  them 
more  than  the  price  agreed  upon?" 

"But  why  do  that?"  I  argued  with  myself, 
"  twenty-five  cents  a  ton  is  the  regular  price  for 
putting  away  coal.  No  one  expects  more.  That 
is  their  price,  and  they  are  satisfied  with  it." 

"  That  may  be,"  I  reasoned  in  turn.  "  But 
why  are  they  satisfied  ?  Because  they  can  get 
no  more.  Twenty-five  cents  a  ton  has  been 
fixed  as  a  fair  compensation,  and  it  is  useless  to 
ask  more." 

**  Well,"  I  opposed,  "  and  why  has  this  price 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  119 

been  settled  on  as  a  fair  one  ?  Simply,  because 
it  is  really  worth  no  more  to  perform  the  amount 
of  labor  required  to  put  away  a  ton  of  coal.  A 
man  can  do  it  alone  in  less  than  an  hour,  and 
twenty-five  cents  an  hour  is  good  wages  for  a 
laboring  man.  Working  ten  hours  a  day,  he 
would  earn  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  day,  or  fifteen 
dollars  a  week." 

"  But,"  my  benevolent  feelings  urged  against 
this,  "  a  coal  man  cannot,  of  course,  get  ten  hours' 
work  a  day  at  putting  in  coal,  or  even  five  hours." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  said  prudence. 
"You  don't  know  any  thing  about  how  much 
work  he  can  get.  A  great  many  tons  of  coal  are 
bought  in  a  large  city  like  this.  No  doubt  these 
men  make  a  great  deal  of  money.  They  seem 
content  enough  with  their  wages,  at  least,  and, 
of  course,  they  are  the  best  judges  of  its  suf 
ficiency." 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is  all  so,"  I  returned,  men 
tally,  lifting  my  eyes  as  I  spoke,  and  glancing  at 
the  two  old  men  below,  who  had  nearly  finished 
their  task.  "  But  they  don't  look  as  if  they 
earned  five  dollars  a  week,  much  less  fifteen.  A 
quarter  between  the  two  !  Indeed  it  seems  like 
too  little.  I  really  feel  ashamed  to  offer  it.  How 


120  THE   LADY  AT  HOME. 

many,  many  quarters,  and  halves,  and  dollars,  do 
I  spend  in  self-indulgence,  while  these  poor  old 
men  have  few  of  the  comforts  of  life.  And  now 
I  am  arguing  with  myself  against  the  justice  of 
paying  them  a  fairer  compensation  for  their  labor, 
than  that  for  which  I  agreed.  The  fact  is,  we  are 
very  nice  in  our  bargains  with  the  poor,  holding 
them  strictly  to  the  minimum  of  compensation, 
while  upon  ourselves  we  lavish  all  kinds  of  ex 
pensive  indulgences.  In  the  morning  we  will 
chaffer  with  a  poor  seamstress,  cook,  chamber 
maid,  whitewasher  or  porter,  about  a  sixpence — 
and  in  the  afternoon  spend  ten  or  twenty  dollars 
foolishly.  A  dollar  thrown  away  upon  self-in 
dulgence,  costs  us  not  a  pang.  But  sixpence 
more  to  a  poor  dependent,  than  just  happens  to 
suit  our  vacillating  ideas  of  economy,  gives  us 
an  hour's  uneasiness  and  self-reproaches.  The 
fact  is,  I'll  give  the  pld  men  a  quarter  a-piece. 
That  is  little  enough." 

To  oppose  this  resolution,  came  the  thought, 
that  if  I  gave  them  more  than  they  asked,  I  would 
do  them  really  more  harm  than  good.  That  the 
good  which  a  shilling  a-piece  would  do  them, 
would  be  no  kind  of  a  compensation  for  the  disap 
pointment  they  would  experience  in  not  getting  a 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  121 

like  advance  at  other  places.  The  fact  of  having 
been  better  paid  here  than  usual,  would  naturally 
lead  them  to  think  about  increased  pay  elsewhere. 
They  would  no  longer  be  content  with  the  regular 
price.  And  to  take  content  from  the  poor  man, 
would  be  to  do  him  the  greatest  possible  harm. 

While  I  thus  thought,  a  domestic  came  into  the 
room,  to  say  that  the  coal  was  all  in  the  cellar. 
For  one  moment  I  hesitated,  and  then  handed  over 
a  single  quarter  of  a  dollar.  As  I  did  so,  I  felt 
a  slight  pang.  The  servant  left  the  room,  and  I 
again  glanced  out  of  the  window.  The  two  old 
men  were  patiently  awaiting  the  reward  of  their 
labor.  Cool  as  the  day  was,  their  work  had 
started  the  perspiration,  and  they  stood  with  bared 
heads,  wiping  their  soiled  faces;  their 'thin  gray 
locks  waving  in  the  wind.  My  heart  was  touched 
at  the  sight,  and  I  half  uttered  the  name  of  my 
domestic  aloud,  under  the  impulse  I  felt  to  recall 
her,  and  double  the  coal  men's  compensation.  But 
I  restrained  myself.  In  a  few  minutes  it  was  too 
late  to  put  my  good  intentions  into  practice. 

I  was  not  satisfied  with  myself.      Try  as  I 

would,  I  could  not  drive  from  my  mind  the  image 

of  the  old  man  who  applied  for  the  privilege  of 

earning  a  shilling.    To  me  an  extra  shilling  would 

11 


122  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

have  been  of  no  consequence — to  him  it  might 
have  proved  a  blessing.  I  felt  that  I  had  been  guilty 
of  grinding  the  poor — not  in  thoughtless  adoption 
of  social  customs,  but  deliberately  and  of  set  pur 
pose.  I  had  saved  a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  but  at 
the  expense  of  a  troubled  conscience.  At  last  I 
succeeded  in  driving  these  unpleasant  thoughts 
from  my  mind.  Friends  whom  I  loved  came  in, 
and  in  pleasant  converse  new  images  arose,  and 
new  affections  came  into  play.  One  of  those 
friends  wore  a  neat  ornament  that  pleased  me 
very  much.  It  cost  three  dollars.  So  well  did 
it  suit  my  fancy,  that  I  commissioned  my  husband 
on  the  next  morning  to  procure  me  a  similar  one. 
He  did  so.  But  before  I  had  an  opportunity  to 
wear  it  in  company,  I  was  led  once  more  to  think 
of  my  old  coal  man. 

Two  or  three  mornings  after  that  on  which 
our  ton  of  coal  was  bought,  my  eye  lit  upon  a  few 
brief  paragraphs  in  the  newspaper  which  evidently 
alluded  to  the  lame  old  man  who  had  excited  my 
unfruitful  sympathy.  He  was  dead.  A  blood-ves 
sel  had  been  ruptured  during  a  fit  of  coughing,  and 
he  had  died  of  suffocation.  The  paragraph  went 
on  to  state  that  he  had  left  a  wife  and  four  little 
children  who  had  been  solely  dependent  upon  his 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  123 

daily  labor  for  food.  They  were  now  in  distress 
and  destitution.  He  who  had  loved  them  had 
been  suddenly  removed  from  them.  The  father 
less  and  the  widow  were  left  in  want  and  desola 
tion.  An  earnest  appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  the 
public  followed. 

I  threw  the  newspaper  aside,  put  on  my  shawl 
*'  and  bonnet,  took  my  purse  from  a  drawer,  and 
hurriedly  left  the  house.  A  brisk  walk  of  half  an 
hour,  brought  me  to  a  comfortless  row  of  tenements 
near  the  suburbs.  In  an  upper  room  of  one  of 
these,  I  found  a  middle-aged  Irish  woman  in  feeble 
health,  with  four  children.  A  question  or  two 
brought  out  a  gush  of  native  pathos,  that  drew 
tears  from  my  eyes.  The  style  and  eloquence 
of  her  lamentations  for  her  lost  "mon,"  showed 
her  heart  to  be  full  of  deep  tenderness — and  that 
her  loss  was  truly  irreparable.  I  found  her  very 
poor — actually  in  want  of  the  most  common  neces 
saries  of  life.  To  a  question  or  two  about  her 
husband,  she  replied — 

"  Och,  indade,  ma'am,  and  my  poor  John  was 
a  hard  working  man,  when  he  could  get  it  to  do, 
and  didn't  dhrink  a  dhrop.  But  he  had  been  out 
of  work  nearly  all  summer — and  hard  enough  has 
it  been  to  get  even  praties  for  the  childher.  And 


124  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

now,  just  as  the  coal  time  had  come  on,  and  he 
was  beginning  to  get  something  to  do,  he  has  died 
— och  hone !" 

"  How  much  could  he  make  in  this  way  ?"  I 
asked,  after  her  new  burst  of  grief  had  subsided. 

"  Never  more  than  three  or  four  dollars  a  week, 
unless  sometimes  when  the  gentlemen  favored 
him,  and  gave  him  a  little  something  more  than  the 
regular  price  for  putting  away  their  coal.  But 
this  was  not  often.  Rich  people  don't  think  much 
about  our  wants.  They  would  make  us  work  for 
them  for  nothing  if  we  would  do  it.  John  often 
came  home  angry,  because,  he  said,  that  even  after 
he  had  earned  his  money,  it  was  begrudged  to 
him." 

The  woman  spoke  with  bitterness.  I  felt  that 
there  was  too  much  truth  in  what  she  said — and 
that  I  was  not  altogether  guiltless.  I  emptied  my 
purse  before  leaving  her  meagerly  furnished  room, 
and  went  away,  I  trust,  a  wiser  woman. 

The  question,  as  to  the  justice  of  our  rates  of 
compensation  for  certain  services,  is  one  that  re 
quires,  I  think,  to  be  discussed  anew,  and  settled 
upon  a  more  liberal  basis.  We  wish  to  get  every 
thing  done  as  low  as  possible,  without  regard  to 
the  value  to  us  of  the  service,  or  the  condition  of 


THE    LADY  AT   HOME.  125 

the  one  who  serves.  Indeed,  the  lower  we  per 
ceive  the  individual  to  have  fallen  in  external 
things,  the  smaller  the  compensation  we  feel  dis 
posed  to  offer  him.  Half  dollars  and  dollars  are 
not  valued  when  some  question  of  self-gratification 
comes  up  ;  but  how  earnestly  do  we  go  to  work 
often  to  get  the  porter's,  the  white  washer's,  or 
carpet  shaker's  services  for  a  few  pennies  less 
than  asked  ?  I  am  not  at  all  guiltless  in  this 
matter.  I  wish  I  were.  Let  me  make  some  more 
confessions.  An  open  confession  is  said  to  be  good, 
for  the  soul. 

Last  spring  it  became  necessary,  as  it  does 
every  spring,  to  clean  house.  Carpets  had  to  be 
lifted  and  shaken,  and  walls  whitewashed  from 
garret  to  kitchen.  An  old  black  man,  who  had 
shaken  my  carpets  every  year,  was  sent  for  to 
perform  his  part  of  the  service.  When  he  came, 
I  said,  after  showing  him  the  carpet — 

"  How  much  are  you  going  to  charge  for  these, 
Moses  ?" 

"  What  I  have  always  charged  you,  ma'am — a 
quarter  dollar  a-piece." 

"  But  I  think  that  is  too  much,  Moses.  Here 
are  six  carpets  to  shake,  and  that  is  a  very  good 
job  ;  and,  you  know,  I  always  get  you  to  shake 
11* 


126  THE    LADY   AT   HOME 

my  carpets.  I  am  sure  I  could  get  it  done  for  less 
Indeed,  I  know  I  could ;  for  Mrs.  Lavely  told  me 
only  yesterday  that  she  never  paid  over  eighteen 
and  three-quarters." 

Moses  looked  surprised,  and,  I  thought,  pained. 
This  would  have  brought  me  back  to  my  senses, 
had  it  not  been  instantly  suggested  that  the  change 
in  his  manner  was  the  confusion  resulting  from  my 
discovering  of  his  having  charged  unjustly  for  his 
work  heretofore. 

.  "  I  will  pay  you  the  same  as  other  people  pay 
for  shaking  their  carpets  and  no  more,"  I  now 
said,  with  decision  in  my  tone. 

"  If  I  must,  I  suppose  I  must — but  it  is  too 
little,"  was  the  reply. 

The  old  man  then  took  up  the  carpets  with  the 
help  of  an  assistant,  and  carried  them  away.  The 
cheerful  air  with  which  this  had  always  been 
done  heretofore  was  gone.  The  cause,  I  might 
easily  have  perceived,  if  I  had  been  in  a  state  of 
that  true  perception  which  is  the  result  of  an  un 
selfish  condition  of  mind.  But  I  was  not ;  and 
attributed  the  change  to  the  disappointment  felt  in 
not  getting  from  me  his  exorbitant  charge,  as  I 
was  pleased  to  call  it. 

When  the  carpets  were  brought  home,  I  paid 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  127 

Moses  one  dollar  and  a'leven  pence.  He  took  the 
money  in  silence,  and,  bowing  respectfully,  with 
drew.  From  the  window  I  saw  him  pay  his 
assistant  thirty-seven  and  a  half  cents,  or  one  third 
of  the  whole  amount  received. 

"  But  this  isn't  enough,"  I  could  hear  the  assist 
ant  say.  "  I  ought  to  have  at  least  half-a-dollar." 

"  And  I,  be-right,  ought  to  have  had  a  dollar  and 
a  half,"  returned  Moses.  "  But  missus  has  got 
stingy.  I  never  knowed  her  to  do  such  a  thing 
afore,  as  take  a  fip  off  of  a  poor  old  fellow,  when 
she  has  got  every  thing  full  and  plenty  around 
her.  I  reckon  she  wouldn't  like  to  shake  one  of 
them  big  heavy  carpets  herself  for  a  quarter,  or  a 
dollar  either.  But  she  thinks  three  fips  enough 
for  a  poor  old  niggar." 

"Tn'ey're  all  a  stingy,  mean  set!"  replied  his 
companion,  indignantly. 

"No,  not  all,"  quickly  interposed  Moses. 
"  Mrs.  Clarke  and  Mrs.  May  berry  paid  the  price 
without  a  word,  and  gave  me  some  old  clothes 
into  the  bargain.  And  so  Mrs.  Elm  wood  used 
to  do ;  but  those  "drunken  fellows  that  have  got  to 
going  about  and  shaking  carpets  for  almost  nothing, 
have  been  along,  and  she  thinks  because  they  will 


128  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

work  at  any  price  for  money  to  get  drunk  on,  we 
charge  too  much  when  we  only  ask  a  living  price. 
It's  hard ;  but  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped.  I've 
got  my  rent  to  make  up  by  Monday,  or  I  wouldn't 
think  much  about  it." 

The  two  black  men  then  went  away,  and  left 
me  to  my  own  reflections,  which  were  not  of  the 
most  self-complacent  kind.  I  had  saved,  it  is  true, 
thirty-seven  and  a  half  cents,  but  the  possession 
of  the  sum  I  had  contended  for  gave  me  no  plea 
sure.  I  had  not  come  by  it  justly.  The  meanness 
of  the  act  I  had  been  guilty  of  made  my  cheek 
burn  with  shame,  while  a  sense  of  its  injustice 
weighed  heavily  upon  my  conscience.  In  order 
to  save  thirty-seven  and  a  hah0  cents,  I  had  actually 
been  guilty  of  oppressing  a  poor  negro.  In  a  few 
days  I  required  old  Moses's  services  again.  f;When 
I  paid  him,  I  took  care  to  make  up  the  deficiency. 

This  circumstance  set  me  to  reflecting,  and  the 
more  I  thought  on  the  subject,  the  more  fully  was 
I  satisfied  that  the  rates  of  compensation  to  a  large 
class  of  persons  below  us  are  too  small.  I  am  no 
political  economist — I  am  only  a  woman,  looking 
upon  human  life  with  a  woman's  eyes.  I  see  a 
large  class  of  persons  who  are  compelled  to  forego 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  129 

all  the  elegancies  and  even  comforts  of  life,  and 
who  think  themselves  well  off  in  procuring  even 
things  barely  necessary  to  sustain  existence.  This 
class  of  persons  render  us  many  services,  for  which 
we  pay  them  the  lowest  possible  prices.  No 
sooner  do  we  come  to  treat  with  them,  than 
shillings,  sixpences,  and  even  pennies,  assume  a 
new  importance  in  our  eyes.  If  betrayed  by 
their  importunity  into  paying  a  few  coppers  more 
than  that  for  which  we  discover  some  other  and 
poorer  person  would  have  done  the  same  service, 
we  allow  ourselves  to  think  that  we  have  been 
cheated.  No  generous  regard  for  the  condition 
of  the  individual  leads  us  to  advance  the  low  rate 
of  compensation  for  which  he  is  content,  or  rather 
compelled  to  labor.  The  penny  saved,  is,  indeed, 
the  penny  gained  to  us,  when  it  is  pinched  off  of 
the  meagre  pay  of  the  poor  whitewasher  or  seam 
stress  ;  and  we  value  it  as  such — but  the  axiom  has 
little  weight  when  it  is  summoned  to  oppose  some 
selfish  indulgence  where  even  dollars  are  con 
cerned. 

I  do  not  think  that  such  a  want  of  regard  to  the 
condition  of  the  poor  who  labor  for  us,  can  be 
right.  I  do  not  think  we  can,  with  a  clear  con 
science,  waste  frivolously  so  much  money  as  we 


130  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

do,  and  yet  systematically  grind  down  the  poor. 
Be  rigidly  exact  with  them  in  regard  to  pennies, 
ivhile  we  waste  dollars  upon  ourselves  in  the 
merest  sensual  indulgences,  that  tend  in  no  way  to 
elevate  the  thoughts  or  purify  the  affections. 


THE   LADY    AT   HOME.  131 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    FISH-WOMAN. 

NOT  many  days  after  I  had  been  called  upon 
to  reprove  myself  a  little  severely  for  my  conduct 
towards  old  Moses,  it  rained  very  heavily.  The 
wind  was  from  the  northeast,  and  the  air  in  con 
sequence  raw  and  cold.  It  so  happened  that  there 
was  nothing  in  the  house  for  dinner.  Some  one 
would,  of  course,  be  compelled  to  go  to  market, 
and  the  market  was  a  long  distance  away.  Cook 
was  not  well, — I  did  not  feel  like  going  out  my 
self  and  getting  thoroughly  drenched,  as  I  most 
certainly  would,  if  I  ventured  into  the  street.  In 
this  dilemma  my  ear  caught  the  welcome  cry  of  a 
fish-woman. 

"  The  very  thing !"  I  ejaculated,  rising  to  my 
feet,  and  going  to  the  window,  upon  which  I  tapped 
as  she  went  by.  It  was  raining  in  torrents.  The 
clothes  of  the  poor  woman  wsre  completely  satu 
rated,  and  clung  to  her  body  as  the  wind  swept 
heavily  against  her. 

"  Poor  creature  !"  I  ejaculated,  with  a  feeling 


132  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

of  real  sympathy.  I  knew  something  about  her, 
for  once  she  told  me  that  she  had  five  little  children 
at  home,  for  whose  support  she  thus  toiled  about 
the  street. 

"  This  is  a  dreadful  morning  for  you  to  be  out," 
I  said,  on  opening  the  door. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  ma'am  ;  but  I  can't  afford  to  lose 
the  sales  of  even  a  single  day.  Here's  a  fine 
bunch  of  fish  for  you,  ma'am,"  holding  up,  as  she 
said  this,  a  large  string  of  rock  fish. 

"  What  is  the  price  ?"  I  asked. 

"  A  quarter  dollar  a  bunch,  ma'am." 

"  What  will  you  take  for  two  bunches  ?"  I 
asked,  instantly  forgetting  all  about  her  peculiar 
situation,  in  the  desire  to  save  a  few  pennies  that 
arose  in  my  mind. 

The  poor  creature  paused  a  moment,  and  stood 
thoughtful.  I  can  see  her  now,  with  her  pale, 
sober  face,  standing  in  the  drenching  storm,  with 
the  water  dropping  from  her  shapeless  bonnet 
about  her  breast  and  shoulders,  calculating  the 
amount  of  reduction  she  could  afford  to  make  me 
on  her  goods. 

"You  shall  have  the  two  bunches,"  she  at 
length  said,  "  for  forty-five  cents.  They  cost  me 
twenty  cents  a  bunch ;  but  it's  a  dreadful  morning, 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  133 

and  1  don't  feel  very  well.  I  want  to  get  home 
as  quick  as  I  can." 

"Very  well,"  I  returned,  "I  will  take  them." 

I  then  retired  from  the  door,  and  took  from  my 
purse  half  a  dollar,  which  I  gave  to  the  cook,  and 
told  her  to  go  to  the  door  and  get  two  bunches  of 
fish. 

"  Here  is  a  half  dollar,"  I  added.  "  She  will 
give  you  Jive  cents  change." 

I  had  hardly  uttered  the  last  sentence  before  my 
conscience  began  to  smite  me.  But  I  stifled  its 
reproofs  until  it  was  too  late.  While  yet  debating 
whether  I  should  generously  pay  the  woman  her 
own  price,  instead  of  taking  from  her  one  half  of 
her  meagre  profits,  the  street  door  closed,  and  Jane 
came  in  with  two  handsome  bunches  of  fish.  As 
she  handed  me  the  change  she  said,  holding  up 
the  purchase — 

"They  are  cheap  enough." 

I  did  not  reply.  "  They  are  dear  enough"— 
would  have  sounded  much  pleasanter  to  my  ears 
at  that  moment.  How  insignificant  and  unattractive 
did  the  small  piece  of  money  I  held  in  my  fingers 
look — and  yet,  to  gain  just  that  little  piece  of 
money,  I  had  permitted  myself  to  wrong  a  poor 


134  THE   LADY  AT  HOME. 

fish-woman,  who  had  five  little  children  to  provide 
with  a  home,  food,  and  clothing. 

"  She  shall  have  it  again !"  I  said,  laying  the 
coin  upon  the  mantel-piece.  "  The  next  time  she 
comes  round,  if  it  is  to-morrow,  I  will  buy  fish 
from  her,  and  return  her  this  five  cent  piece  in 
addition." 

This  resolution  quieted  the  murmurings  of  con 
science.  On  the  next  morning  I  listened  for  an 
hour  or  two,  but  she  did  not  come  into  the  neigh 
borhood.  I  was  disappointed,  for  I  felt  anxious 
to  make  restitution.  The  next  day,  and  the  next 
passed,  but  the  fish-woman  did  not  appear.  1 
never  saw  her  again. 

Several  weeks  afterwards  I  inquired  of  a  woman 
who  called  at  the  door  to  sell  something,  if  she 
knew  any  thing  about  her.  My  description  was 
quickly  recognized. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said ;  "  I  know  her  very  well. 
But  she  is  dead  now." 

"  Dead  !"  I  exclaimed,  in  painful  surprise. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  Some  weeks  ago  it  rained  very 
hard,  and  she  was  out  in  it  nearly  all  day.  She 
took  a  dreadful  cold,  got  sick,  and  died  in  about 
ten  days." 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  135 

"  And  her  children  ?   What  of  them  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  took  one  of  them,  a  little  girl,  into  my  own 
family,  though  it  was  large  enough  already,  dear 
above  knows  !  But  I  thought  of  my  own  children 
if  I  should  be  taken  away,  and  that  made  me  crowd 
and  pinch  a  little  for  the  child's  sake.  The  oldest 
has  been  put  to  a  trade ;  one  has  been  taken  into 
another  family ;  and  the  two  youngest  are  in  the 
alms  house." 

"  Not  in  the  alms  house  !"  I  said,  shocked  at 
the  closing  sentence. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say  it— • 
but  two  of  the  poor  little  things  had  to  be  sent 
there.  No  one  that  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to, 
was  able  to  take  them — for  we  poor  bodies  have 
always  as  many  of  our  own  as  we  can  scratch  for. 
Sometimes  I  think  it  is  a  blessing  that  even  the 
poor  house  is  provided,  where  they  can  at  least 
have  a  home  if  we  should  be  taken  away.  This 
is  often  better  than  being  distributed  about  among 
families,  where  they  are  too  often  shamefully 
neglected,  if  not  treated  most  cruelly.  When  I 
die,  I  want  to  take  all  mine  with  me.  I  do  not 
think  I  could  sleep  quietly  in  my  grave  if  any  one 
were  to  abuse  my  children." 


136  THE    LADY   AT   HOME 

The  woman  was  much  disturbed  by  these 
thoughts,  and  showed  'it  very  plainly.  As  I  felt 
disposed  to  talk  with  her  a  little  further,  I  asked 
her  to  come  in,  which  she  did.  "  How  old  is  the 
child  which  you  have  taken  ?"  I  asked. 

"  About  five  years  old,"  she  replied. 

"Is  it  well  off  for  clothes?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  not  very.  None  of  our  children 
are  very  well  off  in  this  respect.  It  takes  so  much 
to  feed  them,  that  we  never  have  a  great  deal  over 
for  any  thing  else." 

A  thought  came  into  my  mind  at  the  moment. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  part  with  the  child," 

I  asked,  "  if  I  got  a  place  for  it  in  the orphan 

asylum  ?" 

"  It  would  be  so  much  better  off  there  than  I 
can  make  it,  that  I  could  not  refuse  to  let  it  go, 
as  much  like  one  of  my  own  as  it  begins  already 
to  seem,"  she  replied. 

"  How  many  have  you  of  your  own?" 

"  Four." 

"  All  young  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  The  oldest  is  but  seven  years 
of  age." 

"  Have  you  a  husband  ?" 


THE    LADY   AT  HOME.  137 

woman  was  disturbed  at  this  question.  So 
much  so,  that  I  regretted  having  asked  it.  But 
she  replied  in  a  changed  voice. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  But  he  isn't  much  help  to  me. 
Like  a  great  many  other  men,  he  drinks  too  much. 
If  it  wasn't  for  that,  you  wouldn't  find  me  crying 
fish  about  the  streets  in  the  spring,  and  berries 
through  the  summer,  to  get  bread  for  my  children. 
He  could  support  us  all  comfortably  if  he  was 
only  sober,  for  he  has  a  good  trade,  and  is  a  good 
workman.  He  used  to  earn  ten,  and  sometimes 
twelve  dollars  a  week." 

"  How  much  do  you  make  towards  supporting 
your  family  ?"  I  asked. 

44  Nearly  all  they  get  to  live  on,  and  that  isn't 
much,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  My  husband  some 
times  pays  the  rent,  and  sometimes  doesn't  even 
do  that.  I  have  made  as  high  as  four  or  five 
dollars  in  a  week — but  oftener  two  or  three  is  the 
most  I  get." 

44  How  in  the  world  can  you  support  yourself 
and  husband,  and  four  children,  on  three  dollars  a 
week  ?" 

44 1  have  to  do  it,"  was  her  simple  answer. 
*  There  are  women  who  would  be  glad  to  get 


IdS  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

three  dollars  a  week.     They  would  think  them 
selves  well  off." 

"  But  how  do  you  live  on  so  small  a  sum  ?" 
"  We  have  to  deny  ourselves  almost  every  little 
comfort,  and  confine  our  wants  down  to  the  mere 
necessaries  of  life.  After  those  who  can  afford  to 
pay  good  prices  for  their  marketing  have  been 
supplied,  we  come  in  for  a  part  of  what  remains. 
I  often  get  meat  enough  for  a  few  cents  to  last  me 
several  days.  And  the  same  way  with  vegetables. 
After  the  markets  are  over,  the  butchers  and 
country  people,  whom  we  know,  let  us  have  lots 
of  things  for  almost  nothing,  sooner  than  take  them 
home.  In  this  way  we  make  our  slender  means 
go  a  great  deal  farther  than  they  would  if  we  had 
to  pay  the  highest  market  price  for  every  thing. 
But,  it  too  often  happens,  that  what  we  gain  here, 
is  lost  in  the  eagerness  we  feel  to  sell  whatever 
We  have,  especially  when,  from  having  walked 
and  cried  for  a  long  time,  we  become  much  fatigued. 
Almost  every  one  complains  that  we  ask  too  much 
for  our  things,  if  we  happen  to  be  one  or  two 
cents  above  what  somebody  has  paid  in  market- 
where  there  are  almost  as  many  different  prices  as 
there  are  persons  who  sell ;  and,  in  consequence, 


THE   LADY   AT   HOME.  139 

almost  every  one  tries  to  beat  us  down.  It  often 
happens,  that  after  I  have  walked  for  four  hours, 
and  sold  but  very  little,  I  have  parted  with  my 
whole  stock  at  cost  to  some  two  or  three  ladies 
who  would  not  have  bought  from  me  at  all,  if  they 
hadn't  known  that  they  were  making  good  bar 
gains  out  of  me — and  this,  because  I  could  not 
bear  up  any  longer.  I  think  it  very  hard,  some 
times,  when  ladies,  who  have  every  thing  in  full 
and  plenty,  take  off  of  me  nearly  all  my  profits, 
after  I  have  toiled  through  the  hot  sun  for  hours, 
or  shivered  in  the  cold  of  winter.  It  is  no  doubt 
right  enough  for  every  one  to  be  prudent,  and  buy 
things  as  low  as  possible,  but  it  has  never  seemed 
to  me  quite  just  for  a  rich  lady  to  beat  down  a 
poor  fish-woman,  or  strawberry  woman,  a  cent  or 
two  on  a  bunch  or  a  basket,  when  that  very  cent 
made,  perhaps,  one-third  or  one-half  of  her  profits. 
"  It  was  only  yesterday  that  I  stopped  at  a 
house  to  sell  a  bunch  of  fish.  The  lady  took  a 
fancy  to  a  nice  bunch  of  small  rock,  for  which  I 
asked  her  twenty  cents.  They  had  cost  me  just 
sixteen  cents.  *  Won't  you  take  three  fips  ?' 
she  asked.  *  That  leaves  me  too  small  a  profit, 
madam,'  I  replied.  «  You  want  too  much  profit,' 
she  returned.  *  I  saw  just  such  a  bunch  of  fish 


140  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

in  market  yesterday  for  three  fips.'  *  Yes,  but 
remember,'  I  replied,  '  that  here  are  the  fish  at 
your  door.  You  neither  have  to  send  for  them, 
nor  bring  them  home  yourself.'  *  Oh,  as  to  that,' 
she  answered,  *  I've  got  a  waiter  whose  business 
it  is  to  carry  the  marketing.  It  is  all  the  same  to 
me.  So,  if  you  expect  to  sell  me  your  things, 
you  must  put  them  at  market  prices.  I  will  give 
you  three  fips  for  that  bunch  of  fish,  and  no 
more.'  I  had  walked  a  great  deal,  and  sold  but 
little.  I  was  tired  and  half  sick  with  a  dreadful 
headache.  It  was  time  for  me  to  think  about  get 
ting  home.  So  I  said — *  Well,  ma'am,  I  suppose 
you  must  take  them,  but  it  leaves  me  only  a  mere 
trifle  for  my  profits.'  A  servant  standing  by  took 
the  fish,  and  the  lady  handed  me  a  quarter,  and 
held  out  her  hand  for  the  change.  I  first  put  into 
it  a  five  cent  piece.  She  continued  holding  it  out, 
until  I  searched  about  in  my  pocket  for  a  penny. 
This  I  next  placed  in  her  hand.  «  So  you've 
cheated  me  out  of  a  quarter  of  a  cent,  at  last,'  she 
said,  half  laughing,  and  half  in  earnest.  *  You 
are  a  sad  rogue.'  A  little  boy  was  standing  by. 
*  Here,  Charley,'  she  said  to  him,  '  is  a  penny  I 
have  just  saved.  You  can  by  candy  with  it.' 
"  As  I  turned  away  from  the  door  of  the  large, 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  141 

beautiful  house  in  which  that  lady  lived,  I  felt 
something  rising  in  my  throat  and  choking  me.  I 
had  bitter  thoughts  of  all  my  kind.  Happily, 
where  I  next  stopped,  I  met  with  one  more  con 
siderate.  She  bought  two  bunches  of  my  fish, 
at  my  own  price — spoke  very  kindly  to  me,  and 
even  went  so  far,  seeing  that  1  looked  jaded  out, 
to  tell  me  to  go  down  into  her  kitchen,  and  rest 
myself  for  a  little  while.  Leaving  my  tub  of  fish 
in  her  yard,  I  accepted  the  kind  offer.  It  so  hap 
pened  that  the  cook  was  making  tea  for  some  one 
in  the  house  who  was  sick.  The  lady  asked 
me  if  I  would  not  like  to  have  a  cup.  I  said  yes. 
For  my  head  was  aching  badly,  and  I  felt  faint. 
And,  besides,  I  had  not  tasted  a  cup  of  tea  for 
several  days.  She  poured  it  out  for  me  with  her 
own  hands,  and  with  her  own  hands  brought  it 
to  me.  I  think  I  never  tasted  such  a  cup  of  tea 
in  my  life.  It  was  like  cordial.  God  bless  her  ! 
When  I  again  went  out  upon  the  street,  my  head 
ache  was  gone,  and  I  felt  as  fresh  as  ever  I  did 
in  my  life.  Before  I  stopped  at  this  kind  lady's 
house,  I  was  so  worn  down,  and  out  of  heart,  that 
I  determined  to  go  home,  even  though  not  more 
than  half  my  fish  were  sold.  But  now  I  went 


142  THE    LADY    AT   HOME. 

on  cheerfully  and  with  confidence.  In  an  hour 
my  tray  was  empty,  and  my  fish  sold  at  fair 
prices. 

"  You  do  not  know,  ma'am,"  continued  the  wo 
man,  "  how  much  good  a  few  kindly  spoken  words, 
that  cost  nothing,  or  a  little  generous  regard  for  us, 
does  our  often  discouraged  hearts.  But  these  we 
too  rarely  meet.  Much  oftener  we  are  talked  to 
harshly  about  our  exorbitant  prices — called  a 
cheating  set — or  some  other  such  name  that  does 
not  sound  very  pleasant  to  our  ears.  That  there 
are  many  among  us  who  have  no  honesty,  nor, 
indeed,  any  care  about  what  is  right,  is  too  true. 
But  all  are  not  so.  To  judge  us  all,  then,  by  the 
worst  of  our  class,  is  not  right.  It  would  not  be 
well  for  the  world,  if  all  were  thus  judged." 

"  Indeed,  it  would  not,"  I  said,  almost  involun 
tarily. 

After  offering  the  woman  a  few  encouraging 
words,  I  gave  her  some  clothes  for  the  little  girl 
she  had  taken,  and  promised  to  use  my  influence 
to  get  her  into  an  asylum  for  orphans.  This  I 
readily  accomplished ;  thus  relieving  her  of  a  bur 
den,  and  providing  the  child  with  a  comfortable 
home.  The  two  children  who  had  been  taken  to 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  143 

the  alms  house  weighed  upon  my  mind  a  good 
deal.  I  could  not  put  the  thought  of  them  away 
until  I  had  succeeded  in  getting  them  taken  out, 
and  placed  in  the  care  of  two  benevolent,  kind- 
hearted  women,  who  adopted  them  as  their  own. 


144  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    NEW  DOMESTIC. 

JANE,  who  had  never  seemed  happy  after  her 
cousin's  return  to  the  old  country,  gave  me  notice, 
about  a  year  afterwards,  that  she  was  going  to 
leave  me.  She,  too,  pined  for  home,  and  was 
going  back.  I  was  sorry  to  part  with  Jane.  She 
had  been  a  faithful  domestic,  and  faithful  domes 
tics  are  not  easily  obtained ;  but  I  did  not  think  it 
right  to  oppose  her.  We  parted  the  best  of  friends. 
On  the  day  she  left  me,  a  new  cook  entered  my 
kitchen.  I  did  not  like  her  appearance  much.  I 
thought  she  seemed  ill-tempered.  Certainly,  she 
was  very  silent,  and,  to  judge  from  first  appear 
ances,  quite  stupid.  I  felt  discouraged. 

"  Hannah,"  I  said,  on  going  into  the  kitchen, 
after  breakfast,  on  the  first  day  of  her  administra 
tion  in  culinary  affairs, — "  we  will  have  dinner  at 
two  o'clock.  I  wish  you  to  be  very  punctual.  Mr. 
Elmwood  is  particular  about  having  his  meals  pre 
cisely  at  the  hour." 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  145 

To  this  Hannah  made  no  reply,  merely  looking 
me  in  the  face  with  a  half  intelligent  stare. 

"  You  understand  me,  Hannah,"  I  said,  a  little 
sharply — for  I  felt  annoyed  at  her  seeming  stu 
pidity,  or  want  of  good  manners. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  she  replied,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Very  well.  Don't  fail  to  do  every  thing  in 
good  time." 

I  then  told  her  what  we  would  have  for  dinner, 
and  how  I  wished  the  different  dishes  cooked. 
During  the  morning,  thoughts  of  my  new  cook 
troubled  me  a  good  deal.  She  was  so  different 
from  Jane — at  least  from  Jane  when  she  left  me. 
At  first,  even  she  did  not  know  much  about  the 
duties  she  engaged  herself  to  perform.  Two  or 
three  times  I  went  into  the  kitchen  to  see  how 
things  were  progressing.  But  nothing  was  going 
on.  right.  Hannah  was  slow,  awkward,  and  un 
tidy  in  her  work.  And  I  felt  worried.  When  I 
spoke  to  her,  it  was  in  a  pettish  tone.  Of  this  I  was 
conscious,  and,  also,  that  it  was  wrong.  But  I  had 
not  that  command  of  myself  that  would  enable 
me  to  put  down,  by  a  decided  effort,  my  wrong 
feelings.  At  one  o'clock  I  found  the  preparations 
for  dinner  so  much  behindhand,  that  a  late  meal 
was  inevitable. 

13 


146  THE    LADY    AT    HOME. 

"  This  won't  do,  Hannah,"  I  said,  suffering,  in 
spite  of  my  better  sense,  my  feelings  to  betray 
themselves  in  my  manner.  "  I  explained  to  you 
this  morning  that  dinner  must  be  on  the  table 
precisely  at  two.  But  it  will  now  be  impossible 
to  get  it  ready  before  half  past  two.  This  must 
never  happen  again." 

Saying  this  in  a  decided,  rebuking  tone,  and 
with  a  stern  countenance,  I  turned  away  and  left 
the  kitchen.  I  felt  angry  with  Hannah,  and  angry 
with  myself  because  I  was  angry  with  her,  and 
likewise  because  I  had  no  better  control  of  my 
self.  While  sitting  in  the  parlor,  in  a  very  un 
happy  mood,  the  door  bell  rang.  It  was  answered 
by  Hannah,  who  brought  me  in  a  magazine  for 
the  month,  that  had  just  been  delivered.  I  opened 
it  carelessly,  but  was  all  attention  in  an  instant, 
for  the  words — "  Hiring  a  Servant" — met  my  eye 
as  the  caption  of  an  article.  After  reading  the 
first  few  lines,  I  lost  all  consciousness  of  my  own 
peculiar  troubles.  When  I  had  finished  the  story — 
for  story  it  was — I  was  in  a  state  of  mind  alto 
gether  different  from  the  one  I  had  a  short  time 
previously  been  indulging.  I  saw  my  duty,  and, 
what  was  more,  felt  prepared  to  enter  upon  it  in  a 
right  spirit.  But,  for  the  benefit  of  my  fair  country- 


THE    LADY    AT    HOME.  147 

women,  for  whose  instruction  and  improvement  I 
am  opening  up  my  own  faults,  weaknesses,  trials, 
and  triumphs,  I  will  here  give  the  sketch  that  was 
so  useful  to  me.  May  it  be  like  bread  cast  upon 
the  waters. 

HIRING    A    SERVANT. 

"  Well,  I'll  just  give  up  at  once  ;  so  there  now  ! 
It's  no  use  to  try  any  longer !"  said  Mrs.  Parry, 
passionately,  as  she  came  into  the  parlor  where  her 
husband  sat  reading,  and  threw  herself  upon  the 
sofa. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  now,  Cara  ?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Parry  in  a  quiet  tone,  for  he  had  seen 
like  states  of  excitement  so  often  that  they  had 
ceased  to  disturb  him. 

"The  matter?  Why,  a  good  deal!  Sally  is 
going  away  day  after  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  be 
left  without  a  cook  again.  And  what  shall  I  do 
then  ?  Can  you  tell  me  that?" 

"  Hire  another,"  was  the  unmoved  reply  of  Mr. 
Parry. 

"  Yes,  it's  easy  enough  to  say  '  hire  another.' 
but  saying  and  doing  are  two  things.  I  never 
expect  to  get  another  as  good  as  Sally,  and  she  has 
been  troublesome  enough,  dear  knows  !" 


148  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

Mr/ Parry  laid  aside  his  newspaper,  folded  his 
hands  together,  and  assuming  a  resigned  attitude, 
looked  his  wife  in  the  face,  with  an  air  of  com 
posure  that  annoyed  her  exceedingly. 

"  You  seem  always  to  think  this  trouble  about 
servants  a  very  little  matter,"  she  said,  somewhat 
pettishly  ;  '*  I  only  wish  you  had  the  trial  of  it  for 
awhile !" 

"  I  have  no  desire,  I  can  assure  you,  Cara,"  he 
replied,  in  a  soothing  voice.  "  I  never  envied  you, 
or  any  other  woman,  the  pleasures  appertaining  to 
household  duties.  But  you  must  allow  me  to 
think  that  much  of  the  difficulty  and  annoyance 
which  is  too  frequently  experienced,  might  be 
avoided." 

"  No  doubt  you  think  so.  All  men  do.  I  verily 
believe  there  never  was  a  man  yet  who  possessed 
true  sympathy  for  the  peculiar  trials  incident  to 
housekeeping." 

"  Come,  come,  Cara !  that  is  a  sweeping  declara 
tion,"  Mr.  Parry  replied,  smiling.  "  I,  for  one, 
think  that  I  feel  for  you  in  all  your  various  and 
conflicting  duties,  and  were  it  in  my  power,  would 
lighten  every  one  of  them.  But,  as  I  cannot  do 
this,  I  cannot,  of  course,  think  that  in  entering  into 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  149 

them  you  do  right  to  allow  them  to  make  you 
unhappy." 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  talk,  Mr.  Parry  ;  but  how 
do  you  think  that  I  or  any  other  woman  can  look 
on  unmoved,  and  see  every  thing  in  disorder  ?  If 
dinner  is  late,  or  badly  cooked,  you  are  very  sure 
to  speak  about  it ;  and  how  do  you  think  I  can 
feel  easy  when  I  see  that,  through  the  inattention 
of  the  servant,  such  a  thing  is  going  to  happen,  or 
feel  at  all  pleasant  after  it  has  happened  ?" 

This  was  carrying  the  truth  right  home ;  and  Mr. 
Parry  remembered,  all  at  once,  that  at  sundry  times 
he  had  grumbled  because  dinner  was  not  on  the 
table  promptly  ;  and,  on  various  occasions,  because 
the  meat  was  overdone  or  underdone,  or  the  vege 
tables  cold  or  badly  cooked.  He  therefore  sat  very 
still,  and  did  not  reply.  Mrs.  Parry  perceived  the 
impression  she  had  made,  and  continued : — 

"  Or,  how  do  you  think  that  I  can  feel  other 
wise  than  I  do  in  prospect  of  just  such  things  again, 
and  a  dozen  others  more  annoying  still  ?  I've  had 
trouble  enough  with  Sally,  to  get  her  to  understand 
how  things  ought  to  be  done,  and  it  disheartens  me 
outright  now  that  she  is  determined  to  go  away. 
I  don't  care  so  much  for  myself,  but  I  know  how 
these  household  irregularities  annoy  you,  and  that 
13* 


150  THE    LADY   AT  HOME. 

you  blame  me  for  them,  even  though  you  don't  say 
any  thing." 

Mr.  Parry  was  silenced  for  the  time.  He  saw 
that  he  was  thrown  completely  "  in  the  wrong," 
and  that  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  then  to 
argue  himself  out  of  his  unenviable  position.  His 
wife,  thus  victorious,  had  the  uninterrupted  privi 
lege  for  that  day,  at  least,  of  being  just  as  unhappy 
as  she  wished,  in  prospect  of  Sally's  departure, 
and  the  annoyances  that  were  to  follow  this 
event. 

During  that  day  and  the  next,  a  gloom  pervaded 
the  household  of  Mrs.  Parry.  Sally  felt  more 
than  ever  anxious  to  be  away.  Once  or  twice  the 
idea  of  remaining  passed  through  her  mind  ;  but  a 
sight  of  Mrs.  Parry's  overcast  countenance  instant 
ly  dispelled  it. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Sally  was 
to  leave,  an  Irish  girl,  who  had  learned,  through 
the  chambermaid,  that  the  cook  was  going  away, 
applied  for  the  situation. 

"  Are  you  a  good  cook  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Parry. 

"  O  yes,  ma'am ;  I  can  cook  any  thing." 

««  Where  did  you  live  last?" 

"  I  am  living  in  a  tavern,  ma'am." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  leave  there  ?"         .     j 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  151 

"  I  don't  like  the  place.  You  are  so  much  ex 
posed  in  a  tavern." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Margaret." 

"  Well,  Margaret,  you  can  come  on  trial  to 
morrow  morning.  Sally  is  going  to  stay  to-night." 

And  so  Margaret  went  away,  promising  to  come 
back  in  the  morning.  At  dinner  time  Mrs.  Parry 
seemed  a  little  more  cheerful. 

"  I've  engaged  a  cook,"  she  said,  after  the  meal 
was  nearly  over. 

"  Have  you,  indeed !  Well,  I'm  glad  of  that, 
Cara.  You  see  you've  had  all  your  trouble  for 
nothing." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  she  replied.  "  It's  one 
thing  to  hire  a  cook,  and  another  thing  to  be  pleased 
with  her.  She's  an  Irish  girl,  and  you  know  that 
they  are  never  very  tidy  about  their  work." 

"  But  they  are,  usually,  willing  and  teachable. 
Are  they  not?" 

"  Some  of  them  are.  But  then,  who  wants  the 
trouble  of  teaching  every  new  servant  her  duty  ? 
It's  enough  to  pay  them  their  wages." 

"  Still,  in  thus  teaching  them  we  are  doing  good. 
And  we  should  always  be  willing  to  take  upon 


152  THE    LADY    AT   HOME. 

ourselves  a  little  trouble,  if,  in  doing  so,  we  can 
benefit  another." 

"  That  would  be  too  generous  !  I  might,  on 
your  principle,  be  willing  to  do  nothing  else  but 
teach  ignorant  servants  their  duty,  and  thus  fit 
them  to  make  other  houses  pleasant,  instead  of  my 
own.  For,  it  generally  happens,  that  when  you 
have  made  one  of  them  worth  having,  she  knows 
some  one  with  whom  she  would  rather  live  than 
with  you.  There  was  Nancy,  that  didn't  know 
how  to  wash  a  dish,  or  cook  a  potato  when  I  took 
her.  She  lived  with  us  a  year,  until  she  could 
lurn  her  hand  to  every  thing,  and  then  went  to 
Mrs.  Clayton's,  where  she  has  been  for  six  years. 
Mrs.  Clayton  told  me  day  before  yesterday  that 
she  was  the  best  woman  she  had  ever  had  in  the 
house,  and  that  she  would  not  part  with  her  upon 
any  consideration.  And  here  is  Sally,  with  whom 
I  have  had  my  own  time.  She's  getting  to  be 
good  for  something,  and  now  she's  contented  here 
no  longer." 

"  That  does  seem  a  little  hard,  Cara.  But,  then, 
don't  you  feel  a  gratification  in  reflecting  that, 
through  your  means,  Mrs.  Clayton  has  obtained  a 
servant  who  fills  her  place  so  well  as  to  give  satis 
faction  to  the  family  ?" 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  153 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  Mrs.  Parry  replied  in  a 
half  positive,  half  hesitating  tone. 

"  Then  if  you  do  not,"  her  husband  said, 
seriously,  "  it  is  time  that  you  began,  at  least,  to 
make  the  effort  to  feel  thus.  The  reason  that  we 
are  so  often  made  unhappy  by  the  actions  of  those 
around  us,  is,  because  we  regard  our  own  good 
and  our  own  comfort  of  primary  importance.  Any 
thing  that  disturbs  these,  disturbs  us.  But,  if  we 
desired  to  impart  benefits  as  well  as  to  receive 
them,  we  should  come,  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
into  a  state  of  mind  that  could  not  be  easily  agi 
tated.  We  would  see  in  the  wrong  actions  and  in 
the  short-comings  of  others,  that  which  affected 
them  injuriously,  as  well  as  ourselves,  and  in  try 
ing  to  modify  or  correct  them,  we  would  have  a 
reference  to  their  good  as  well  as  to  our  own." 

"  That  may  all  be  true  enough  ;  but  I  am  sure 
that  I  could  never  act  from  such  disinterested 
motives.  It  is  not  in  me." 

"  It  is  not  in  any  one,  naturally,  to  act  thus, 
Cara.  But  that  is*  no  reason  why  good  principles 
may  not  be  formed  in  us.  You  can  at  least  see, 
I  suppose,  that,  if  all  acted  thus  with  reference  to 
the  good  of  others,  every  thing  in  society  would 
move  on  much  more  pleasantly  than  it  does." 


154  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

"  0  yes,  of  course.  But  if  only  a  few,  why 
they  might  work  their  lives  through  for  the  good 
of  others,  and  be  no  better  off  by  it." 

"  A  selfish  idea,  I  see,  is  uppermost  in  your 
mind,  Cara,"  her  husband  said  kindly,  and  with 
an  encouraging  smile,  for  it  was  not  often  that  he 
could  get  her  to  consent  to  talk  rationally  on  such 
subjects.  "  The  few  who  thus  acted,  would  not 
have  in  their  minds  the  idea  of  a  reward.  The 
delight  which  naturally  springs  up  in  the  mind 
from  the  performance  of  good  actions  to  others, 
would  be  to  them  a  much  higher  gratification  than 
any  thing  that  could  be  given  to  them  as  an  external 
reward  for  what  they  had  done.  Let  me  see  if  I 
cannot  make  this  plain  to  your  mind.  Suppose 
Mrs.  Clayton  had  so  thoroughly  educated  an  igno 
rant  servant  as  to  make  her  fully  acquainted  with 
all  the  household  duties  that  might  be  required  of 
her ;  and  that  after  she  was  thus  fitted  for  the  per 
formance  of  these  duties,  this  servant  left  her,  and 
finally  came  into  your  family.  Do  you  not  think 
that  Mrs.  Clayton  might  feel  delight  in  the  thought, 
that  through  her  efforts  to  instruct  that  servant,  she 
had  acquired  the  ability  of  obtaining  a  comfortable 
home  at  any  time,  and  you  had  the  pleasure  of 
having  one  in  your  family  who  lightened  you  of 


THE    LADY    AT   HOME.  155 

many  a  care,  and  caused  your  household  arrange 
ments  to  move  on  harmoniously  ?" 

"Yes,  I  can  see  that  she  might.  But  I  am  not 
so  sure  that  she  would  feel  thus." 

"  And  you  can  see,  no  doubt,  that  to  feel  thus 
would  be  much  better  than  to  have  none  but  purely 
selfish  affections." 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  that,  too.  And,  farther,  I  should 
be  very  glad  if  I  could  have  principles  of  action  so 
elevated." 

"  You  may  have  them,  Cara.  We  all  may 
have  them,"  her  husband  said,  earnestly  and  feel 
ingly.  "  But  then,  it  will  be  necessary  for  us  to 
begin  the  correction  in  us  of  whatever  is  altogether 
of  self ;  and  to  begin,  too,  in  humble  and  little  things. 
I  must  cease  to  complain,  if  every  thing  should 
not  happen  to  be  as  orderly  as  I  desire,  and  cease 
to  do  so,  because  I  know  that  to  complain  thus 
will  necessarily  make  you  unhappy.  I  must  not 
regard  myself  exclusively.  And  you,  in  reference 
to  your  servants,  should  regard  them  and  their 
good,  as  well  as  the  perfect  order  of  your  house 
hold  arrangements.  Under  such  a  system,  if  care 
fully  carried  out,  with  the  heart  in  it,  a  wonderful 
change  would  occur.  In  case  things  went  wrong 
— and  perfection  cannot  be  attained  in  any  thing 


156  THE   LADY   AT    HOME. 

here — you  would  cease  to  feel  annoyed  and  dispi 
rited  as  you  now  often  do.  The  higher  and  more 
unselfish  motives  from  which  you  acted,  would 
superinduce  a  condition  of  mind  not  easy  to  be 
disturbed." 

"  I  fear,  husband,  that  I  have  defects  of  charac 
ter  which  will  prevent  my  ever  acting  thus,"  Mrs. 
Parry  said,  in  a  tone  slightly  desponding. 

"  A  consciousness  of  your  weakness,  my  dear 
Cara,  should  make  you  doubly  watchful.  The 
end  to  be  gained  is  worth  years  of  trial.  If  you 
can  only  gain  your  own  consent  to  commence  the 
work  of  reformation  from  principle,  you  will  soon 
begin  to  perceive  its  peaceable  fruits,  and  thus 
find  ample  encouragement  for  perseverance." 

"  I  can  at  least  fry,  husband,"  she  said,  looking 
up  into  his  face  with  an  expression  of  calm  deter 
mination.  "  But,"  and  her  countenance  changed, 
and  assumed  a  look  of  dispondency,  "  how  shall 
I  begin  ? — that  is  the  puzzling  question." 

"  To  begin  aright  is  almost  half  the  victory. 
And  here  I  must  confess  that  I  hardly  know 
how  to  give  advice.  But  perhaps  I  can  suggest 
a  thought  or  two  that  will  help  you.  This  new 
cook  who  is  coming,  you  say,  is  an  Irish  girl. 
It  is  not  probable  that,  in  the  outset,  she  will  be 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  157 

at  all  capable  of  doing  her  work  as  you  wish  it 
done.  Make  up  your  mind  to  this,  resolving,  at 
the  same  time,  that  you  will  be  kind  and  forbear 
ing  towards  her.  That  no  matter  how  awkward 
she  may  be,  or  how  ignorant,  that  you  will  not 
exhibit  in  her  presence  any  thing  like  impatience. 
Think  of  her,  too,  as  a  poor  girl,  who  has  had 
few  opportunities,  and  who  is  now  in  a  strange 
country,  and,  perhaps,  altogether  friendless.  Your 
kind  feelings  will  then  be  drawn  out  towards  her, 
and  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  feel  kindness  and 
concern  for  her  without  its  being  perceived.  The 
Irish  character,  you  know,  is  grateful.  From  the 
awakening  up  in  her  mind  of  affection  towards 
you,  she  will  by  doubly  anxious  to  serve  and  to 
please  you.  Thus  a  life  will  be  put  into  all  her 
actions.  Under  such  an  impulse  she  will  learn 
quicker  and  remember  better  all  you  wish  her  to 
do,  than  she  possibly  could  if  she  were  acted 
upon  by  less  elevated  motives." 

"  I  see  and  feel  the  force  of  what  you  say,'* 
Mrs.  Parry  replied,  in  a  subdued  tone,  "  and  will, 
at  least,  try  to  put  in  practice  the  hints  you  have 
given  me." 

On  the  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Margaret 
came,  and  Sally  went  away,  leaving  the  kitchen 
14 


158  THE   LADY  AT  HOME. 

in  her  charge.  For  a  little  while  after  Sally  had 
left,  Mrs.  Parry  permitted  herself  to  feel  dis 
couraged  ;  but  from  this  state  of  mind  she  soon 
roused  herself,  and  went  out  into  the  kitchen  to 
instruct  Margaret  in  her  duties.  It  first  occurred 
to  her,  after  she  had  gone  in  where  the  girl  was, 
that  she  ought  to  do  something  to  make  her  feel 
easy  and  at  home.  The  wish  to  do  this  was 
soon  followed  by  an. idea  of  how  it  might  be  done. 
So  she  said — 

"  Come,  Margaret,  bring  your  box  up  stairs, 
and  I  will  show  you  your  room." 

So  Margaret  lifted  her  box,  which  she  had  set 
down  in  one  corner  of  the  kitchen,  and  fol 
lowed  Mrs.  Parry  up  into  one  of  the  garret 
rooms,  which  was  plastered,  and  had  but  a  few 
days  before  received  a  fresh  coat  of  whitewash. 

"  This  is  the  room,  Margaret,  in  which  you, 
with  the  chambermaid,  will  sleep.  She  will  keep 
it  in  order,  of  course  ;  your  duties  will  lie  in  the 
kitchen.  You  will  find  her  very  kind,  and  you 
must  try  and  live  on  good  terms  with  each  other." 

"  It  shan't  be  my  fault,  ma'am,  if  we  don't," 
Margaret  said,  warmly,  for  she  felt  Mrs.  Parry's 
kind  manner,  and  was  instantly  drawn  towards  her. 

"You  say  that  you  understand  how  to  cook 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  159 

almost  any  thing,"  Mrs.  Parry  remarked,  after 
they  had  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

Margaret  hesitated  a  moment,  while  the  color 
rose  to  her  face.  At  length  she  said,  with  a 
good  deal  of  feeling  in  her  tone  of  voice — 

"  I  wouldn't  deceive  you  for  the  world,  ma'am, 
now  you  seem  so  kind  to  me.  I  am  not  a  very 
good  cook,  for  I  never  had  much  chance  ;  but  then, 
ma'am,  I  am  anxious  to  learn." 

"  But,  didn't  you  tell  me,  Margaret,  that  you 
could  cook  any  thing  ?"  Mrs.  Parry  asked  in  an 
altered  tone. 

"  0  yes,  indeed,  ma'am,  and  so  I  did.  But 
then  what  could  I  do  ?  If  I  had  said  I  wasn't 
a  good  cook,  you  wouldn't  have  taken  me ;  and 
so  I'd  a  had  no  chance  to  learn  at  all.  But  in 
deed,  ma'am,  I'll  try  to  do  right,  and  if  trying  '11 
do  any  good,  I  am  sure  I  will  please  you." 

Mrs.  Parry  hesitated.  She  hardly  knew  what 
to  do  or  say.  There  was  something  in  Margaret's 
present  frankness  and  apparent  sincerity  that  she 
liked ;  but  this  was  counterbalanced  by  a  direct, 
premeditated  falsehood,  and  an  intention  to  de 
ceive.  After  pausing  for  a  few  moments,  she 
said — 

"  Well  Margaret,  I  cannot  say  that  I  like  your 


160  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

attempt  to  deceive  me,  but  now  you  are  here,  I 
will  at  least  give  you  a  trial." 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  it  was  necessity  entirely  that 
made  me  do  it ;  but  I  knew  that  if  I  tried  I  could 
learn,  and  I  thought,  surely  the  mistress  will  have 
patience  with  me  when  I  am  willing !" 

This  modified  Mrs.  Parry  considerably;  and 
feeling,  from  having  at  first  almost  compelled  her 
self  to  take  an  interest  in  the  poor  Irish  girl,  some 
touches  of  real  concern  for  her,  she  said— 

"  If  you  are  really  willing  to  learn  and  anxious 
to  please,  Margaret,  I  have  no  objection  to  taking 
some  pains  to  instruct  you.  But  then  I  shall 
want  you  to  pay  attention  to  what  I  tell  you,  so 
that  after  I  have  once  given  you  a  plain  direction, 
you  will  not  discourage  me  by  forgetting  it,  when 
you  come  to  do  the  thing  over  again." 

Margaret  promised  faithfully  to  do  the  best  she 
could,  and  then  set  about  her  work.  Heretofore, 
on  hiring  a  new  cook,  Mrs.  Parry  had  installed 
her  into  the  kitchen,  and  then  left  her  to  go  about 
things  in  her  own  way,  under  all  the  disadvantages 
of  being  in  a  strange  place,  unacquainted  with  the 
economical  arrangements  of  the  family.  Of  course, 
no  one  ever  suited  her  at  first,  and  it  was  usually 
some  weeks  before  things  got  into  regular  going 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  161 

order.  In  the  present  instance,  however,  she  felt 
that  there  was  a  positive  necessity  for  her  to  plan 
and  arrange  all  the  work  there.  She  found  Mar 
garet  really  ignorant  of  the  very  first  principles  of 
her  assumed  calling.  But  she  was  so  willing, 
active,  and  good  tempered,  that  she  could  not  get 
out  of  humor  with  her,  though  several  times  during 
the  morning  she  was  sorely  tempted.  Dinner 
was  ready  at  the  hour,  and  well  cooked,  too,  for 
it  had  all  been  timed  and  performed  under  Mrs. 
Parry's  own  direction ;  and  she  well  knew  how 
to  do  it. 

"  Your  dinner  is  in  good  time,  and  in  good 
order,"  Mr.  Parry  remarked,  after  sitting  down^o 
the  table ;  "  and  you  don't  seem  to  look  worried, 
though  a  little  warm,  as  if  you  had  been  pretty 
busy.  I  hope  your  new  cook  has  proved  herself 
better  than  you  had  anticipated  that  she  would  be." 

"  She  has  proved  to  be  quite  deficient  in  every 
thing,"  Mrs.  Parry  replied. 

"  Indeed  !  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.  I  thought 
she  recommended  herself  highly." 

"  So  she  did.  But  she  confessed  to  me  this 
morning,  that  she  did  so  to  secure  the  place,  hoping 
to  learn  afterwards." 

14* 


162  THE    LADY  AT   HOME. 

"  That  is  a  bad  sign.  I  suppose  you  do  not  in 
tend  keeping  her." 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  she  seems  so  anxious  to  learn, 
and,  withal,  so  willing  and  good  tempered,  that  I 
feel  very  much  disposed  to  take  some  trouble  with 
her.  I  have  been  in  the  kitchen  most  of  the  morn 
ing,  and,  indeed,  cooked  the  dinner  pretty  nearly 
myself.  I  see  much  in  her  to  like,  though  a  good 
deal  that  tries  my  patience.  I  must  confess,  that  so 
decided  an  untruth  as  she  told  me  prejudices  me 
against  her.  Still,  much  allowance  should  be 
made  for  a  defective  education,  and  the  disadvan 
tages  under  which  she  found  herself  placed." 

'*  That  is  sensible  and  kind,  Cara,"  her  husband 
replied,  evidently  pleased  at  finding  his  wife  so 
readily  making  the  effort  to  act  from  motives  less 
selfish  than  those  which  had  too  uniformly  govern 
ed  her  in  matters  relating  to  her  domestics,  "  and 
I  have  no  idea  that  your  labor  will  be  thrown 
away." 

"  I  feel  somehow  or  other  that  it  will  not  be 
thrown  away,"  Mrs.  Parry  said;  "and  I  feel, 
that  my  mind  is  much  calmer  and  more  encouraged 
than  it  would  have  been  if  I  had  left  her  alone  in 
the  kitchen,  with  the  determination  to  send  her 


THE   LADY  AT   HOME.  163 

away  if  she  were  not  able  to  do  things  to  my 
liking." 

"  You  are  getting  hold  of  the  true  philosophy, 
Cara,"  said  her  husband,  with  an  encouraging 
smile.  '*  We  never  cultivate  good  feelings  to 
wards  others,  or  make  an  effort  towards  being 
kind  to  them,  that  we  have  not  a  reward  in  a 
composed  state  of  mind  more  than  compensating 
for  the  self-denial  or  trouble  it  may  have  cost  us." 

'*  The  truth  of  what  you  say  is  not  only  appa 
rent  to  me,  but  I  can  realize  it  from  having  felt  it," 
was  Mr.  Parry's  reply. 

That  evening,  a  Mrs.  Coster,  one  of  her  friends, 
came  in  to  spend  an  hour  or  two.  Their  conver 
sation,  by  a  natural  transition,  passed  to  the  sub 
ject  of  servants. 

"I  am  almost  out  of  all  heart,"  Mrs.  Coster 
said,  with  a  sigh,  as  soon  as  the  topic  was  intro 
duced.  "  Indeed,  I've  given  up  all  hope  of  ever 
having  any  peace  again  while  I  am  in  the  power 
of  so  unprincipled  a  class  as  domestics.  Is  it  not 
too  bad,  that  the  happiness  of  a  whole  family  must 
be  interrupted  by  a  cook,  or  a  chambermaid  ?  It 
makes  me  feel  downright  angry  whenever  I  think 
about  it.  I  see  it  as  clear  as  can  be  that  we  shall 
have  to  break  up  and  go  to  boarding." 


164  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

"  That  would  be  exchanging  one  evil  for  a  do 
zen,"  remarked  Mrs.  Parry. 

"  So  I  used  to  think,"  Mrs.  Coster  replied. 
"But,  really,  I  have  been  forced  to  change  my 
mind.  Every  day  the  trouble  with  servants  is  in 
creased.  If  you  get  one  that  is  worth  having, 
she  will  be  off  at  the  end  of  two  or  three  months ; 
and  nine  out  of  ten  I  wouldn't  give  house  room. 
They  are,  in  fact,  not  worth  the  powder  it  would 
take  to  shoot  them  !  But  how  are  you  off  in  this 
respect,  Mrs.  Parry  ?" 

"  Well,  I  have  my  own  troubles,  Mrs.  Coster. 
Sally,  who  has  been  with  me  a  good  while,  left 
me  this  morning,  and  I've  got  a  raw  Irish  girl  in 
the  kitchen,  who  couldn't  cook  a  dinner  in  a  decent 
way  to  save  her  life." 

"  O  dear !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Coster,  clasping  her 
hands  together,  and  rolling  up  her  eyes.  "  Then 
you  have  got  your  hands  full.  I  had  a  trial  of 
one  of  your  raw  Irish  girls  once,  and  a  pretty  piece 
of  baggage  she  was.  I  left  her  to  cook 'the  dinner 
on  the  first  day — and  such  a  dinner !  But  I  will 
not  make  the  effort  to  give  you  an  idea  of  it,  or 
the  dozen  other  things  she  attempted  to  do,,  I 
never  want  to  hear  of  raw  Irish  girls  again  since  I 
had  a  trial  of  Margaret  Coyle." 


THE    LADY  AT   HOME.  165 

0  Margaret  Coyle  !"  Mrs.  Parry  said,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise. 

"  Yes,  Margaret  Coyle  ;  and  I  hope  in  mercy, 
it  isn't  her  that  you've  got." 

"  Yes,  it  is  no  other  than  her,"  Mrs.  Parry  re 
plied,  despondingly. 

"  0  dear  !  O  dear  !  Then  you've  got  your  hands 
full !  Why,  unless  she  has  changed  a  good  deal 
since  I  had  her,  she  is  not  able  to  do  a  single  thing 
as  it  ought  to  be  done.  And,  besides,  she  is  slovenly 
and  dirty.  You'd  better  send  her  off  at  once,  for 
you'll  never  make  any  thing  out  of  her." 

"  She  seems  at  least  willing,  and  good  temper 
ed,"  urged  Mrs.  Parry,  in  her  favor. 

"  Not  by  any  means.  I  found  her  dilatory  and 
unmanageable ;  and  she  is  the  only  servant  who 
ever  gave  me  a  saucy  word." 

"Ah  me !"  sighed  Mrs.  Parry,  "  It's  a  hard 
case,  truly  !  Why  can't  domestics  feel  some  sense 
of  justice  towards  the  families  in  which  they 
reside  ?" 

"  Because  they  are  a  low,  unprincipled  set !" 
Mrs.  Coster  replied,  warmly  ;  "  and  I  don't  know 
that  we  ever  need  expect  much  more  from  them. 
They're  generally  envious  of  their  mistresses,  and 
ashamed  of  the  idea  of  being  servants,  and  think, 


166  THE    LADY   AT    HOME. 

in  consequence,  that  it  shows  a  spirit  of  independ 
ence,  to  be  saucy  and  disregardful  of  the  comfort 
of  the  families  in  which  they  reside." 

After  Mrs.  Coster  went  away,  Mrs.  Parry 
seemed  very  much  dispirited,  and  remarked  to  her 
husband,  that  she  was  afraid  all  her  hope  of  making 
any  thing  out  of  Margaret  was  vain. 

"  That  may  be,"  Mr.  Parry  remarked.  "  But 
it  does  not  at  all  follow,  it  seems  to  me,  from  what 
Mrs.  Coster  has  said.  I  am  confident  that  she 
never  gave  Margaret  a  fair  trial.  And  I  am  farther 
inclined  to  think,  that  she  worried  the  poor  girl 
until  she  was  roused,  and  answered  her  back  in  a 
spirit  of  offended  pride." 

"  Yes,  that  may  be  very  true.  I  never  thought 
that  Mrs.  Coster  had  much  feeling  for  her  domes 
tics.  She  expects  them  to  do  just  so,  and  never 
spares  them  if  there  is  any  deviation  from  her  rules. 
Nor  does  she  think  it  required  of  her  to  consider 
them  at  all,  except  as  necessary  appendages  to  her 
family." 

"  That  is  the  great  error,"  Mr.  Parry  replied. 
«'  So  long  as  the  majority  of  people  look  upon 
domestics  as  necessary  evils,  so  long  will  the 
majority  of  people  find  it  hard  work  to  get  along 
with  them.  Nor  is  this  kind  of  trouble  confined 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  16? 

altogether  to  the  one  party  in  the  case.  The  ser 
vant  has  as  hard,  and  usually,  a  much  harder  time 
of  it  than  the  mistress.  She  is  expected  to  do  every 
thing  for  the  comfort  of  the  family,  and  yet  is  to  be 
considered  no  farther  than  as  entitled  to  her  regular 
monthly  hire.  Too  often,  she  is  made  to  bear  all 
the  surplus  ill-humor  of  the  woman  in  whose  service 
she  is  engaged ;  and,  as  a  general  rule,  is  too  often 
a  stranger  to  all  kindness  and  consideration.  This 
is  speaking  with  a  good  deal  of  seeming  latitude  ; 
and  yet,  Cara,  you  will  admit  that  there  is  too 
much  truth  in  what  I  have  said." 

'*  I  cannot  deny  it,"  Mrs.  Parry  replied,  serious 
ly,  "  nor  can  I  get  away  from  the  conviction,  that 
I  am  far  from  being  innocent  in  the  matter  myself* 
We  are  apt  to  take  it  for  granted  that  those  under 
us  are  also  below  us  in  feeling ; — that  they  are  not 
entitled  to  the  same  consideration  that  those  are 
whose  condition  in  life  is  equal  or  superior  to  our 
own." 

"  That,  certainly,  is  a  great  fault.  It  may  often 
happen,  too,  that  the  poor  girl  who  is  forced  to  go 
into  the  kitchen,  is  one,  the  promise  of  whose  early 
years  was  far  superior  to  that  of  the  individual  for 
whom  she  is  compelled  to  labor.  And  she  may, 
also,  have  as  acute  feelings,  and  be  possessed  of  as 


168  THE    LADY   AT   HOME. 

sound  moral  principles.  But  who  considers  her  in 
this  light?" 

The  conversation  thus  commenced,  continued 
for  some  time  ;  but  we  will  not  weary  the  reader 
by  repeating  it  farther  ;  enough  has  been  given  to 
show  the  principles  it  involved. 

During  the  next  morning,  Mrs.  Parry  gave  up 
her  time  to  Margaret,  and  endeavoured,  in  a  kind 
manner,  to  instruct  her  in  the  duties  she  had 
assumed.  The  poor  girl  seemed  very  anxious  to 
learn,  and  evinced  a  quickness  of  apprehension  that 
disappointed  Mrs.  Parry  agreeably.  To  see  how 
far  she  recollected  the  directions  given  on  the  day 
previous,  the  same  kind  of  a  dinner  was  prepared. 
Margaret  was  at  fault  but  once  or  twice,  and  when 
the  omission  was  pointed  out,  she  said  she  would 
try  and  never  forget  that  again ;  and  said  it  so 
earnestly,  that  it  was  evident  she  would  be  likely 
to  keep  the  thing  in  her  memory.  Much  to  the 
surprise  and  pleasure  of  Mrs.  Parry,  in  the  course 
of  a  week,  Margaret  could  get  aldhg  very  well  in 
the  kitchen,  carefully  continuing  to  do  every  thing 
in  the  exact  way  she  had  been  told  that  it  ought  to 
be  done.  Sometimes,  when  Mrs.  Parry  was  in  a 
less  calm  and  pleasant  state  of  mind  than  usual,  and 
any  thing  would  go  wrong,  or  Margaret  would 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  169 

forget  some  particular  direction,  she  would  speak 
to  her  in  a  voice  less  kind  than  she  had  from  the 
first  assumed  when  addressing  her.  Whenever 
this  happened,  the  poor  girl  would  look  up  into  her 
face  with  an  appealing  expression,  and  sometimes 
the  moisture  could  be  seen  gathering  in  her.  eyes. 
Mrs.  Parry  always  felt  this,  and  it  enabled  her  to 
correct  in  herself  an  habitual  petulance  when  any 
thing  occurred  to  disturb  her.  The  improvement 
manifest  in  Margaret  continued,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  first  month,  Mrs.  Parry  was  better  pleased 
with  her  than  with  any  one  she  had  ever  had. 
From  an  uniform,  kind  consideration,  she  had  come 
to  feel  an  interest  in  her,  and  one  day  asked  her 
why  she  had  left  her  native  home.  The  question 
seemed  to  excite  some  painful  emotions  in  the 
mind  of  the  Irish  girl,  but  she  replied,  readily  and 
respectfully : 

"  Misfortunes,  ma'am.  When  my  father  and 
mother  died,  and  the  landlord  rented  our  cottage 
and  acre  of  ground  to  another  family,  me  and  the 
two  little  children  were  turned  out,  to  do  the  best 
we  could.  We  had  always  had  a  plenty  of  good 
potatoes,  and  milk,  and  oatmeal  bread,  and  we  were 
as  happy  as  the  greatest  in  the  land.  But  now  the 
5 


170  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

hardships  came.  I  didn't  mind  myself  so  much, 
for  I  was  most  grown  up,  and  could  do  pretty  well ; 
but  it  made  my  heart  ache  to  see  little  Jamie  and 
Catherine  turned  on  the  parish,  with  no  one  to  be 
kind  and  good  to  them  as  I  had  been.  Poor  things  ! 
It  was  hard  fare  and  cruel  treatment  they  had.  And 
I  could  do  nothing  for  them,  though  I  am  sure,  if 
my  heart's  blood  could  have  done  them  any  good, 
they  should  have  had  it.  Little  Catherine  didn't 
stand  it  more  than  a  year.  It  was  wrong,  maybe, 
but  I  did  feel  glad  when  she  died.  O,  ma'am,  if 
you  had  seen  her  when  she  was  laid  out  for  a  little 
while  before  they  boxed  her  up  with  rough  boards, 
and  put  her  down  in  the  ground,  without  a  priest 
or  a  word  of  prayer  over  her,  it  would  have  made 
your  heart  ache,  I  am  sure,  as  it  did  mine.  Before 
she  went  into  the  poor  house,  she  was  fat  and  round 
as  your  little  George  is  now ;  but  when  she  died, 
she  was  all  skin  and  bone,  and  her  eyes  were  sunk 
'way  down  in  her  head.  And  when  little  Jamie 
was  let  come  and  see  her,  before  she  was  buried, 
he  looked  so  pale  and  thin,  and  full  of  sorrow,  that 
it  broke  me  down  entirely.  O,  ma'am,  you  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  see  those  you  love  as  dearly  as 
you  love  your  life,  suffering  and  dying  before  you, 


THE   LADY   AT   HOME.  171 

and  yet  have  no  power  to  help  them."  The  girl 
paused  a  moment  or  two  to  recover  herself,  and 
then  continued,  . 

"  Well,  Jamie,  he  didn't  last  long.  He  died  as 
Catherine  had,  from  want  of  good  food  and  kind 
treatment.  I  saw  the  last  of  him,  too,  and  then  it 
seemed  as  if  a  great  load  had  been  taken  off  my 
heart.  I  knew  they  had  both  gone  where  they 
would  be  happy.  Some  time  after  this  my  brother, 
who  had  been  in  this  country  a  few  years,  sent  me 
over  some  money,  and  asked  me  to  join  him,  say 
ing  that  he  would  take  care  of  me.  I  came  out  of 
course.  But,  ma'am,  when  I  got  here,  he  had  died 
with  the  fever.  I  felt  like  I  should  have  to  give  up. 
I  was  in  a  strange  country,  and  among  strangers. 
But  they  told  me  at  the  tavern  where  I  was,  that  if 
I  would  turn  to  as  chambermaid,  they  would  give 
me  four  dollars  a  month.  I  was  glad  enough  to  do 
so.  But  I  did  not  like  it  much,  especially  when 
I  got  acquainted  with  one  or  two  girls,  who  were 
employed  in  families,  and  who  said  it  was  so  much 
pleasanter  there.  I  didn't  like  the  exposure  of  a 
tavern,  and  wanted  badly  to  get  into  the  quiet  of  a 
private  house.  At  last,  one  of  my  acquaintances 
told  me  she  could  get  me  a  place  as  cook.  'But 
I  didn't  know  how  to  cook,'  I  told  her.  *  0,  never 


172  THE    LADY    AT   HOME. 

mind  that,'  she  said  ;  *  tell  the  woman  you  can  cook 
every  thing,  or  she  won't  have  you  ;  and  you  can 
easily  learn  after  you  once  get  the  place.  So  I 
did  as  I  was  told.  The  woman  wasn't  kind  and 
good  to  me  as  you  have  been,  ma'am.  She  gave 
me  things,  and  told  me  to  get  dinner  ;  I  made  bad 
work  of  it,  of  course.  And  then  she  got  angry, 
and  called  me  ugly  names.  O,  it  made  me  feel  so 
bad  !  From  asking  a  little,  as  far  as  I  could  ven 
ture,  and  taking  notice  why  she  found  fault,  I  tried 
to  get  as  near  right  as  I  could.  But  it  was  no  use. 
I  was  ignorant,  and  she  did  not-  seem  to  have  any 
feeling  for  me.  I  staid  only  a  week  or  two,  when 
she  got  angry  with  me  for  doing  something  wrong, 
and  said  very  hard  words  to  me.  I  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer,  ma'am,  and  so  talked  back  to  her. 
This  made  her  a  great  deal  worse,  and  I  thought  I 
had  better  leave  and  go  back  to  the  tavern,  and  so  I 
did.  After  a  while  I  heard  that  you  wanted  some 
one,  and  I  told  you,  because  I  was  persuaded  to, 
the  same  story  about  my  knowing  how  to  cook 
every  thing.  You  know  the  rest,  ma'am.  I  think 
I  improve  some,  don't  I  ?"  she  added,  innocently. 
"  O  yes,  Margaret,"  replied  Mrs.  Parry,  "  you 
have  improved  very  much ;  and  if  you  continue 
to  improve,  and  are  as  willing  and  good  tempered 


THE    LADY   AT    HOME.  173 

as  you  have  been,  I  think  there  will  be  no  need  of 
our  parting  soon.  But  was  not  that  Mrs.  Coster 
with  whom  you  lived  ?" 

"  Indeed  ma'am,  and  it  was  !"  Margaret  said, 
looking  up  with  surprise. 

"  I  know  her  very  well,  Margaret,  and  she  is, 
in  many  things,  a  kind-hearted  woman.  But  she 
is  sometimes  thoughtless.  She,  I  suppose,  ex 
pected  to  find  in  you  what  she  wanted,  a  good 
cook,  and  was  very  much  disappointed,  and  con 
sequently,  out  of  patience,  when  she  found  that 
you  could  do  nothing  that  you  had  engaged  to 
do." 

Here  the  conversation  ended  between  Mrs. 
Parry  and  her  new  cook,  for  whom,  after  hearing 
her  brief  history,  she  felt  added  kindness,  and 
also  an  increased  degree  of  confidence  in  her.  Nor 
was  she  disappointed.  From,  apparently,  the 
most  unpromising  materials,  she  came  into  the 
possession  of  a  domestic,  through  kindness  and 
consideration  for  her,  who  was  ever  faithful,  and 
thence  invaluable.  And  even  more  than  this — 
she  had  been  led  to  see  in  herself  and  correct  it, 
that  which,  while  it  influenced  her,  would  have 
made  it  impossible  even  to  retain,  for  any  length  of 
time,  a  good  servant.  That  particular  disposition 
15* 


174  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

was,  a  habit  of  petulance  and  fault-finding,  when 
things  were  a  little  wrong.  Nothing  so  discourages 
a  domestic,  as  the  clouded  brow  of  her  mistress. 
If  there  is  sunshine,  she  will  go  about  her  duties 
with  cheerfulness  and  perform  every  thing  quicker 
and  better.  But  the  great  prerequisite  in  the  mis 
tress  of  a  family,  is  that  calm,  dignified  and  uni 
form  consistency  of  conduct  which  commands 
involuntary  respect.  There  are  within  the  circle 
of  almost  every  woman's  acquaintance,  some  who 
are  never  troubled  with  domestics.  All  about 
them  seem  to  be  in  the  cheerful  performance  of 
every  duty.  Let  the  manner  of  one  of  these  to 
wards  her  servants  be  observed.  She  is  never 
heard  to  speak  to  them  in  a  tone  of  command, 
and  often,  in  giving  directions,  she  will  be  heard 
to  say  in  a  mild  tone,  "  Nancy,  I  wish  you,"  to  do 
so  and  so ;  or,  "  Will  you"  do  this  or  that  thing. 
And  yet,  no  one  hesitates  or  uses  improper  famili 
arities  towards  her.  She  has  no  better  materials 
to  act  upon  than  others,  but  she  moulds  and  fashions 
them  in  a  different  way.  On  no  occasion  does 
she  get  excited,  and  say  unreasonable  things  to 
them ;  for  this  would  destroy  in  their  minds  all 
respect  for  her :  as  it  always  does  in  every  in 
stance  where  such  a  bad  habit  is  indulged  in.  But 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  175 

we  will  not  tire  our  lady  readers  by  lecturing 
them  upon  their  domestic  duties.  We  are  sure 
that  they  have  their  own  troubles  in  this  respect. 
Nor  will  we  presume  to  condemn  any  who  cannot 
come  up  to  the  standard  we  have  attempted  to 
raise ;  but,  if  they  will  only  try  to  do  so,  and 
carefully  look  within,  rather  than  without,  for  dif 
ficulties  and  hindrances,  we  are  sure  that  some 
of  them  will  be  able  to  get  along  with  that  trouble 
some  class  of  people  called  helps,  domestics,  or 
servants,  as  fashion  or  prejudice  decides,  much 
better  than  heretofore. 

When  I  laid  aside  the  magazine,  far  different 
feelings  were  active  than  when  I  took  it  up.  My 
anger  had  passed  away.  I  stood  on  a  different 
position-point,  and  saw,  of  course,  all  things  around 
me  in  different  relations.  At  that  moment  the 
time-piece  on  the  mantel  struck  the  half-hour.  I 
got  up,  and  went  calmly  into  the  kitchen.  Han 
nah  looked  earnestly  into  my  face  as  I  entered.  I 
understood  the  reason  of  this.  She  had  felt  my 
harsh,  dissatisfied  manner  towards  her,  and  it  had 
made  her  unhappy. 

"  Hannah,"  I  said,  in  a  mild,  encouraging  voice,  as 
soon  as  I  had  ascertained,  which  I  did  in  a  moment 


176  THE   LADY   AT   HOME. 

or  two,  the  exact  state  of  progress  that  had  been 
made  in  the  preparation  of  dinner,  "  let  me  assist 
you  in  getting  this  meal  ready.  I  don't  think  you 
understand  my  stove  yet,  for  your  fire  does  not 
seem  lively." 

As  I  said  this,  I  took  up  the  poker  and  cleared 
the  fire  of  an  accumulation  of  ashes,  examined 
the  dampers,  and  found  that  they  were  all  wrong ; 
re-arranged  the  dishes  that  were  cooking,  so  as  to 
bring  them  into  more  advantageous  positions,  and 
then  showed  Hannah  what  I  had  done,  explaining 
to  her,  in  a  kind,  familiar  way,  the  whole  action 
of  the  cook-stove.  The  effect  of  this  surprised 
me.  The  dull,  awkward  girl,  brightened  up,  and 
showed  a  degree  of  intelligence  that  I  had  not  sup 
posed  she  possessed.  By  remaining  with  her,  and 
instructing  her  in  a  kind  way,  I  was  enabled  to 
have  dinner  on  the  table,  well  cooked,  by  a  quarter 
past  two  o'clock — and  it  so  happened  that  my  hus 
band  did  not  come  in  until  just  at  that  time. 

Encouraged  by  the  good  effects  produced  by  my 
change  of  manner  towards  the  new  cook,  I  went 
frequently  into  the  kitchen  for  the  next  three  or 
four  days,  and  found  Hannah  a  very  different 
kind  of  a  person  from  what  I  had  supposed.  She 
was  a  little  awkward,  it  is  true,  but  this  arose  from 


THE    LADY   AT   HOME.  177 

the  fact  that  she  had  never  been  properly  instructed 
in  any  thing.  She  had  been  left  to  find  out  nearly 
all  her  duties,  and  to  do  them  according  to  her  own 
intelligence.  But  when  I  showed  her  a  better 
way,  she  was  thankful,  and  at  once  adopted  it. 

Thus  I  continued  for  some  time,  until  I  had 
trained  her  quite  to  my  liking.  The  consequence 
is,  that  now  I  have  a  domestic  who  is  to  me  almost 
invaluable.  Hannah  is  clean,  tidy,  and  industri 
ous,  and  always  to  the  minute  with  her  meals. 
Had  I  not  adopted  the  judicious  course  that  proved 
so  successful,  I  should  not  have  made  any  thing  out 
of  her,  for  she  will  not  bear  harsh  treatment.  It 
wounds  her  feelings,  confuses  her  mind,  and  ex 
cites  her  to  opposition.  But  kindness  softens 
her,  as  wax  is  softened  before  a  gentle  heat. 

But  enough  for  he  present.  I  throw  these  few 
leaves,  upon  which  are  written  some  brief  passages 
of  my  own  experience  in  domestic  life,  upon  the 
waves,  trusting  that  they  may  do  good — that  my 
countrywomen  may  gather  from  them  hints  to 
make  both  themselves  and  all  who  look  up  to  them 
happier.  The  power  to  do  good,  every  one  pos 
sesses.  If  we  cannot  reform  the  world  in  a  mo 
ment,  we  can  begin  the  work  by  reforming  ourselves 


178  THE   LADY   AT  HOME. 

and  our  households,  and  thus  plant  the  seeds  that 
will  in  time  produce  a  sure  harvest.  Who  will 
not  enter  at  once  upon  this  work  ?  It  is  woman's 
mission.  Let  her  not  look  away  from  her  own 
little  family  circle  for  the  means  of  producing  moral 
and  social  reforms,  but  begin  at  home  ;  and  the 
little  leaven  she  there  hides,  will,  in  due  time,  tho 
roughly  leaven  her  three  measures  of  meal. 


THE   END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


LOAN 


1  3  1978 


- 


APR  2  9 1984 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


LD9-30m-12,'71v- 


M88961 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


